Seed of Darkness
by Little Red Hood
Summary: A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack must use the Crown of Erik to call on some unlikely allies. Fallon/Isabelle, Fumm/OC
1. Prologue: Innocence

**Title:** Seed of Darkness

**Summary:** A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack must use the Crown of Erik to call on some unlikely allies. Fallon/Isabelle, Fumm/OC

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or make any money off these characters or storylines. I'm writing this cause it's a fun world to play in, not because it'll bring me zillions of dollars. There you go. Don't sue me, guys.

**Author's Note:** So after I saw JTGS I came to this archive and found a shocking lack of Fallon/Isabelle stories. Well, I guess it's not so shocking, since this pairing is about as unlikely as it would be for Godzilla to conscientously avoid stepping on people but, damnit, I REALLY want it! So, off I went to write my own. This takes place a few months after the movie. Obviously, I had to change the ending slightly so Fallon doesn't die, but he still gets hurt pretty bad anyway. With that said, I'll step aside and let you guys read...

**Prologue: Innocence**

_Fee, Fye, Foe, Fumm, ask not whence the thunder comes. Ask not where the herds have gone, or why the birds have ceased their song. When coming home, don't take too long, for monsters roam in Albion._

Nights are always a wonder in Gantua. Starlight plays games flitting among shadow within its huge forests of pine and juniper. Wraiths of blue mist flow over the ground like hunting serpents, moistening every stone with a cold sheen. The air - especially in autumn - has a bite hard enough to frost any exposed skin it touches. Most of Gantua's citizens preferred the comfort of a dry, warm cave after dark, unless they were hardened to the cold. Or simply did not care.

On a rugged cliff overlooking an impossibly vast height stood a lone figure. He was large for one of Gantua's people, battle-scarred with ropy muscle sliding beneath his skin at each movement. Spiked bone armor covered one broad shoulder, gauntlets of iron covered his forearms, and a battered helm was on his head. Both of them.

For this Gantuan had been born with a strange companion: a second head. A smaller, misshapen head that could barely speak and was more annoying than useful most of the time. Still, the small head possessed enough insight to know when his brother was unhappy and was even now trying - but failing miserably - to communicate with his companion.

"Squeeaaaggh?"

The first head remained silent, lost in contemplation of the thick mists swirling at the edge of the cliff.

"Gluggg?" Though barely a phlegmatic gargle, the noise still managed to convey inquisitive worry.

"Shut up." A low growl edged the words with a hint of barely contained anger, and the second head wisely did as it was told.

Fallon - for that was the Gantuan's name - gazed down upon the edge of his world, tried to see past the blue-tinted mists that hung like a curtain on the air. Even if he could see through the soupy stuff, his eyes - all four of them - were not sharp enough to pick out the shape of the human world below. But when the wind shifted just right, he thought he could smell it. The stuffy reek of draft horses pulling carts, the burnt-iron tang of metal being worked into swords, the disgusting stench of sweat, offal, and dead bodies in their crowded human villages; it all made him wonder how they could stand living so close to each other. Humans smelled like rot unless they were properly cooked and seasoned.

Well, he amended, except for the Princess.

She had smelled wonderful. Like apples and sugar. He licked his lips at the thought of it. She was down there now, far beyond his reach. Down there with that boy she liked so well.

Damn that boy. He had come so close to winning. The princess was in his grasp, terrified and helpless. Fumm - even as a rat-faced traitor he was still useful - had broken through the city gates and was about to make short work of whatever pitiful fools remained of the King's Guardians. Cloister was all but conquered.

Damn you, Jack.

Fallon shivered as the memory of the bean dropped down his throat awakened remembered pain of internal wounds; torn, ripped, and gouged organ meat that was mostly healed now but embedded in each hidden scar lurked a different flavor of agony. When that leafy-green monster sprouted in his belly, all thought of the princess, Jack, and the war fled clean away from his mind, to be replaced with a single imperative that beat like a thunder drum in his brain: _get it out! get it out! get it OUT!_

And he _had_ gotten it out. He'd yanked the slimy, still-growing stalk out by the roots, tearing chunks of his own vitals out with it, and crawled on his hands and knees toward Jack, who'd been holding the princess in his scrawny arms. He'd snarled and cursed at the boy, trying to reach him, kill him, but his hand had fallen limp a foot away from Jack's boots as he'd collapsed in a spreading pool of his own blood.

That was the last he remembered of the battle. When he next opened his eyes, he'd been back at the Citadel, with Fee gripping his right arm and Fye holding onto the left while Foe poured healing water down his throat. He supposed he should thank his three brothers for his continued existence, but he hated owing a debt to anyone.

_And why should life bring me joy when a chance for vengeance against King Erik's people was laid before me, and it withered in my grasp? _His lip curled up in a snarl as he glared down through the mist, through the fathoms of cloud and air that separated him from the human world. From _her_.The second head tried to mimic his fierce expression, but ended up looking like a deformed ogre who'd eaten too many pigs. Above him, the stars journeyed through the heavens, mocking him with their freedom.

_What freedom is there for us now? The humans have the crown. Our will is enslaved to theirs_. The thought made his scarred entrails quiver with revulsion.

A footfall sounded from behind him just as an all-too-familiar scent reached his flared nostrils.

"Going to shove me over the edge, Fumm?" He acknowledged the dark-haired giant without turning around, with the corners of his mouth turning down as though he tasted something foul. Fumm merely shrugged as he came to stand beside him, his small weasel eyes traveling to the same faraway place his former king was contemplating. "It's tempting," Fumm growled, "but your body might land upon some innocent girl and kill her. I would not condemn any female to such a fate."

Fallon felt the jab cut like a flaming sword in his heart. His fingers flexed, aching to grip the beautiful iron chain of his flail and smash its spiky ball into something, preferably something in the approximate shape of Fumm's skull. Around them, night animals hunted; he could hear the near-silent swoop of owl's wings as they fell upon unwary mice and carried them off to be devoured, along with the rasping scales of snakes coiling around fledgling birds tumbled from their trees.

He heard Fumm sigh beside him.

"We were closer once. Weren't we, brother?" Fumm's hissing voice sounded, of all things, sad. Brother? He hadn't spoken that word to any of them since they'd all played together in the safety of the nest-cave. Those times felt ancient as buried clay, when they'd been nothing more than five carefree young lads wrestling, laughing, and waiting for their turn to win glory and make their Father proud. Then the Sister's Three brought them out into the world and gave them their Names: Fee, Fye, Foe, Fumm, and Fallon.

Feigeor, Fyelar, Fohane, Fumersu, and Fallanor.

Madness, Grief, War, Pain, and Loss.

Fallon gritted his teeth, exposing sharp white incisors the size of a man's fist.

"Yes, brother. We were." And before Fumm saw him moving Fallon struck, whirling around with teeth bared and landing a solid blow to the other giant's face. Blood sprayed from Fumm's shattered nose as he reeled backwards, stumbling and cursing. Then Fallon was falling on him, taking him down hard enough to leave a spiderweb of cracks in the stony ground. They became a roaring tangle of arms, legs, and clawed fingers scuffling dangerously close to the cliff's edge as Fumm tried to throw the larger giant off while his assailment mercilessly smashed closed fists into his face and chest with enough force to pound granite into powder. Warm blood splashed into Fallon's face, a few smaller drops spattered across the gaping-idiot mouth of his second head, and he became dimly aware that if he didn't get control of himself fast, he would have one less brother in the world.

Breathing hard, with spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth, Fallon let his fists drop to his sides. keeping one knee firmly planted on Fumm's chest while the other pressed down hard on his right arm, preventing him from reaching the stone-slinger fastened to his belt. Purplish bruises were already darkening his face and one eye was swollen shut. Still, Fumm managed a weak, gap-toothed smile, as though he'd expected all along to end up beaten and bloody

When he spoke, Fallon barely recognized himself, his voice twisted into the guttural barking of a wolf pack fighting over a carcass. "I'll let you live because you carried on the fight after I fell into that thrice-damned hell of a fire-lake. But don't expect me to forgive you for leaving me to burn!" Rage transformed his face, his eyebrows drawing together while the angles of his cheekbones sharpened into knives. "And especially not for trying to save the princess from me!"

"She was helpless and a prisoner! You had no right to-"

The knee digging into Fumm's chest bore down harder. "What was I supposed to do with her, Fumm? She's the spawn of that bastard Erik!"

Fumm managed to croak out through swollen, bleeding lips. Defiance thrummed through him like lightning. "King Erik was a monster," he said, "but you are far worse."

Fallon roared, a terrible sound like the rumbling descent of an avalanche. The smaller head chimed in; his roar less impressive but just as angry. The two-headed monster leapt off his fallen enemy in one quick motion, needing to get away from that ruined, mashed-in face or he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from tearing his little brother's throat out.

_You are far worse. _

Birds rose into panicked flight as Fallon stalked away, pushing trees in his path aside like sticks. It wasn't true. Just a soft bite from an upstart weakling. Not even worth considering. The ground trembled as each of his heavy footsteps startled forest animals into taking flight. A herd of deer caught in the middle of grazing sprang away from him, their liquid-brown eyes bulging with fright as their long, tawny legs propelled them gracefully through the air in quick leaps.

He stooped down to snatch up a fawn that had the misfortune of being just a tiny bit slower than the rest. It squirmed in his fingers, forelegs sticking out like twigs while its hind legs kicked madly. His thumb encircled its haunches. completely trapping it. Its chest was against his palm, the frightened beat of its heart insignificant next to his own thundering pulse.

It wasn't true.

Still...

As he lay beaten and half-dead on the floor of the human's castle, there was a moment before his sight failed him where he'd seen into the eyes of the Princess and thought he'd read something, a soft, sad light that spoke of...kindness? Mercy?

He would've granted her neither.

Warm guts squirted out between his fingers as the fawn's body was crushed to pulp in his grip. Sniffed the wet blood smearing his hand. It smelled sweet. Clean.

Innocent.

He wiped the blood away and stalked off into the night.

{O}

Isabelle's heart was pounding in her chest as she forced herself to run, run, and keep running. She could hear the two-headed beast cursing behind her, feel his thundering footsteps echo through the barren stone of the catacombs. She'd loved exploring the old tunnels beneath the castle when she'd been a little girl. The long deserted rooms once called to her, whispering of heroic tales, legendary kings, and of forgotten history filled with wonder and magic. Now they felt more like what they truly were - a vast, mazelike tomb a single thought burned the surface of her mind like the flames on the oil-slicked moat outside: I_ don't want to die here!_

Jack! Where was Jack? He'd been running with her, but his hand slipped free of her own when the giant's spiked flail had sheared the air directly over their heads. The gust of wind generated by the flight of the deadly iron ball had nearly sent her flying face-first into the dusty floor. Jack was nowhere to be seen now. Was he dead?

"You smell of horses, mixed with sugar." The monster's voice floated like poisonous mist throughout the tunnels, smooth and taunting. She heard a birdlike squawk, which must've come from the misshapen second head. Her legs trembled, almost spilling her to her hands and knees, but she forced them to keep running, spurred on by sheer desperation.

Her breath was coming in ragged pants by the time she heard stone smash behind her as the giant swung his mace again. Dust clouds and debris peppered the air all around her, stinging her arms and face, nearly blinding her. Her gold dress was a mess of torn and fluttering silk. A coppery taste filled her mouth, and Isabelle realized with horror that sometime during the chase she'd bitten her lower lip; now blood was flowing freely. _Dear God, the blood-scent! Fallon can track it!_ Without thinking, she ran down a narrow hallway overlooking a balcony.

The sound of the wooden balustrade cracking was the only warning she had before Fallon's hand reached through and his thick, calloused fingers wrapped around her. Her whole body strained to yank itself out of his grip, one hand making a futile grab for the ruined balustrade, then she was face to face with the ugly creature. His flabby lips pulled up in a cruel sneer, and the second head let its tongue dangle from its mouth, panting like a dog expecting a juicy bone from its master.

"It's the end of the line, Princess."

She leaned back, trying to pry the enormous fingers off her as Fallon lifted her to his mouth. J_ack! JACK, HELP ME! _But Jack was far away, too far to reach her in time. Through the burning haze of pain and fear, she thought she could hear him screaming her name. His voice was tinny, distorted, as though it were being shouted through mud.

_Isabelle! Isabelle!_

Some evil magic prevented her from closing her eyes. She saw everything as she slipped, legs kicking, past Fallon's teeth and into warm, wet darkness. He'd swallowed her whole. Everything became a blur of red as she dropped headfirst down his throat, arms flailing, hands looking for purchase but finding only smooth fleshy tissue, and then a sphincter opened and she plunged into viscous green digestive juices...

The scream flew out of her like an arrow shaft as she followed it, sitting bolt-upright in bed with her right hand clutching her racing heart and her left gripping the wool coverlet as though trying to anchor her to something real. She gulped in air, taking huge, shaky breaths like a frightened fox being run to ground by a hunter.

"My lady?" A timid voice piped up. "Are you well?"

Isabelle glanced over at the girl in the bed next to hers. She was propped up on an elbow, her long strawberry-blond hair falling over her shoulders, and her sea-green eyes were wide with concern. The room was dark except for a few sputtering candles; the smell of beeswax and freshly cleaned linen hung in the air like a balm. Safe smells.

"I'm fine, Anastasa." Isabelle brought a hand up to massage the ache between her eyes. 'just another nightmare."

"Of the giant?" Rustling of sheets and coverlets, then Isabelle's new lady-in-waiting sat on the edge of her bed, dangling cream-smooth legs over the side. Her naked pink toes swept the wooden floor anxiously. "What was his name again?"

'Fallon." Isabelle sighed. She wanted it to be Jack with her in the dark, holding her while he chased her nightmare away with a silly story or, even better, passionate kissing. But Father insisted they sleep in separate rooms until the night of their wedding, which wouldn't arrive until next spring. He'd also decided it would benefit Isabelle to have girls her own age around the castle. And so he'd gotten Anastasa, orphaned daughter of a jewelry-maker who'd inherited her father's quick fingers and so could string together necklaces like spiders wove webs. Ana was sweet and kind and Isabelle was genuinely fond of her, but she'd been sheltered for most of her life, spoon fed with fairy tales of girls falling in love with and being loved by monsters, and so Isabelle had a difficult time impressing upon her how terrifying it had been to actually be hunted by one.

"Was he really that awful?" Ana was hesitant, not wanting to upset her further but curiosity was an itch that had to be scratched.

She thought of poor Crawe, ripped into chunks of meat and eaten right in front of her. 'Yes."

"Why was he chasing you?"

"He wanted to eat me, Ana. Because I'm the last of King Erik's kin." Isabelle flopped back onto the bed, stared up at the oaken ceiling beams. _Oh Jack, I wish you were with me now._

"Maybe not. Maybe he would've kept you in his castle."

Isabelle shuddered. "That would've been even worse." The polished wood of the ceiling beams crossed each other, and she tried not to think of how much they resembled the bars of a cage. A cage she once cringed inside of, trying to make herself as small as possible, while a smooth, sharp-edged voice asked her questions she couldn't answer.

_How did you get here?_

_I came alone._

_Your blood betrays you, Your Highness._

She pushed the memory away. It wouldn't go easily. "Go back to sleep, Ana. I think I'll be staying up for a while. Alone." She continued to lay on her back, knotting her fingers together, and thought of Fallon the last time she'd seen him. Torn up and bleeding, inside and out, with the remnants of the half-sprouted beanstalk laying like a tangle of blood-smeared kelp beside him. He'd been groaning in pain, defeated, helpless. She'd even felt a twinge of pity for him, but far greater was her joy at still being alive. His grip on her had been so tight.

The giants took him back to Gantua. Maybe he'd died there.

But she doubted it.

**Author's Note:** If you read the first part and are thinking "What?" I'll explain the deal between Fumm and Fallon in later chapters.. Isabelle gets a lady-in-waiting because I was a little annoyed she was the only woman in the entire movie and, no, her name isn't meant to be reference to Princess Ana from Frozen. I just saw Frozen a few days ago whereas I wrote this last month. Loved Princess Ana, but this Ana wasn't intended to be a rip-off of that Ana. Though they do have some similarities, now that I think of it. Oh well. I have a bunch of chaps already written and they just need a little polishing up before I send them out into the world so if anyone cares I could post an update in another week or so.


	2. Chapter 1: Promises

**Title:** Seed of Darkness

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack must use the Crown of Erik to call on some unlikely allies. Fallon/Isabelle, Fumm/OC

**Disclaimer:** Do not own, though I still have hopes someday Santa will bring me my very own giant.

**Chapter One: Promises**

Jack had never once dreamed he'd be where he was now. The throne room of King Brahmwell was every bit as magnificent as he'd always imagined it. Thick red carpets inlaid with threads of shining gold covered the floors. Any place not covered by carpet was polished oak wood, reflecting the flickering lights of hundreds of beeswax candles placed in carefully-hidden sconces, their sweet aroma spread thick upon the air. His left knee felt as though it was about to give out from kneeling, but he didn't care. For being in this place, at this time, seemed so unreal that he feared the tiniest movement might wake him up and he'd be back in his crumbling old hut with his constantly-disapproving Uncle yelling at him to: "Get your fool head out of the clouds and get to work!"

"Arise, Jack, before you hurt yourself." King Brahmwell's eyes crinkled with amusement as Jack got to his feet. "As my future son-in-law you need not be overly concerned with formalities." Jack hurriedly unbent himself and stood up, still keeping his chin lowered slightly out of respect. The king was actually a little shorter than the farmboy,, a fact that made Jack feel as though he'd unintentionally committed a crime. Swathed in the traditional gold and white robes of royalty, his red cape trailing behind him, King Brahmwell carried himself with dignity despite his plump belly and age-lines creasing his face like layers of slate in a quarry.

Stern, but with a kind heart, Jack thought. Exactly like my Dad used to be.

"How goes life about the town?" Brahmwell started to walk toward an oaken door leading to an adjoining hallway. A pair of liveried guards opened the door to let him pass as Jack walked beside him, making sure to always stay one or two paces behind, "Are my people well?"

Jack plucked at a loose thread on his tunic. "Well enough, I suppose. Many homes were destroyed when the giants attacked. Their hard lives just turned harder. And then we've got wives who lost husbands and children who lost fathers." He sighed. Seeing orphans in the streets begging for scraps always tugged at the old ache in his heart where he kept golden memories of a father and childhood long past.

_Tell the story again, Dad. The one about the giants._

"And your Uncle?" Brahmwell asked.

"He still hasn't forgiven me."

Brahmwell stopped mid-stride and turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. "Even though you bought him a new house and land?"

Jack's reply was a tired smile expressing both amusement and weariness. "Even so. He's not the forgiving type. Says he won't take me back and risk any more of my stupid mistakes."

"Your 'stupid mistakes' saved my kingdom as well as my daughter's life. Whatever wrongs you've committed in the past, Jack, I wholehearted absolve you." Brahmwell turned away, and so missed seeing the wide grin that spread like sunrise over the boy's face, lighting him up and making him look younger, gawkier, and handsomer than ever.

Brahmwell continued walking, taking a long, circuitous route that managed to avoid passages and chambers which had sustained minor damage during the giants' siege. Most of the castle had come through relatively intact, with the outer keep taking the brunt of the onslaught. The catacombs had fared the worst. White stone pillars lay strewn about like broken teeth and several places in the walls and ceiling were gouged by boulder-sized impact craters. The marble floor once decorated with the seal of Cloister's kings now yawned like a gateway to the abyss - the result of Fallon breaking into the castle - and so Brahmwell had declared the tunnels forever unsafe and ordered them sealed permanently.

_Just as well_, Jack thought somberly. _I doubt Isabelle will ever want to venture down there again._

Tiny pinpricks of cold fire lifted the hair on the nape of his neck when he thought of how close it'd been. _If I hadn't saved that last bean, she and I would both be dead._

He was so preoccupied with this dark thought that he almost thumped into the king's back, for the older man had finally stopped. Looking up, he saw they were in a long hallway carpeted in lush red ermine. On the walls, marching in a straight line broken only by wrought-iron brackets bearing lit torches, hung portraits of men and women held in quiet dignity behind ornate frames of gold and silver. Wide-eyed, Jack's gaze roamed hungrily among the different faces. One gray-haired man appeared to be in his late fifties when his portrait was made and Jack got the impression from his hawknose and thin-lipped, straight mouth that this was a man who'd never smiled in his entire life. A woman with her delicate-fingered hand cupping her chin seemed to wink at him, her dark hair fanning out around her shoulders in tantalizing curls while her full lips curved in a smile. Jack noticed King Brahmwell's eyes were also latched onto the woman's portrait, and realized with an audible gasp that the lovely woman in the fetching pose looked just like Isabelle.

"Isabelle's mother." Brahmwell nodded at the painting. "Gwendolyn was the light of my life, and her soul lives still in her daughter." He stared at the portrait for a long time. Jack shuffled beside him, uncertain of what to say. The heat from the torches raised a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was about to wipe it off on the back of one sleeve, but caught himself. Y_ou're in the presence of royalty!_ The thought hit him like a whip, and sounded unpleasantly like his Uncle. _Show a little class for once! _

Finally, the king turned to face Jack, found the boy's downcast eyes, and locked them in a steady, unblinking gaze. Jack's stomach knotted. It was like the king was searching his soul, weighing his heart, and testing his courage all with a single piercing look. "Jack, do you know why I ordered the beanstalk cut down?"

Jack's spine straightened. He'd never raised this subject with the king and Brahmwell had never volunteered any information; they'd left it alone, in a sealed iron casket full of Things-Best-Not-Talked-About. Until now.

"I-I imagine you did it to protect the kingdom, Your Highness. To keep the giants from coming down and all."

Brahmwell nodded. Age showed in the worry lines around his eyes, in the sprinkling of gray among his dark curls. "I did. Because a king is not only a father to his children, Jack, but to every man, woman, and babe who dwell within his land.. He must be prepared to risk anything, sacrifice anything to keep them safe. I love Isabelle beyond words, but I couldn't risk dooming us all. Not even for her."

"You will inherit the kingdom when I am gone. Swear to me that whatever Fate hands you, you will always protect my people. No matter the cost to yourself."

Jack dropped to his knees without being asked. He felt there was no other way to deliver such a vow.

"I swear, Your Majesty. On my soul, life, and honor, I swear."

"Your Majesty!" A crisply accented voice cut through the solemnity of the moment. Sound of approaching bootheels, and Jack saw from his vantage point near the floor the tall, razor-straight visage of his friend Elmont. The knight was clad in the standard Guardians' uniform of studded leather armor, matching black leather breeches, and a wickedly sharp rapier was secured in a sheath at his belt. He executed a precision-perfect bow to the king, then, upon straightening, nodded his head at Jack. "Hello down there, Jack. I see your knees are working properly. Well done."

"Elmont." The king quickly took in the scowl on his Captain's face. "I know that look. What has happened?"

"We have a problem." Elmont drew something from a pouch on his belt, and Jack smelled rich soil mixed with healthy green leaves. "It seems, before we cut them down, those overgrown weeds managed to spread themselves around a bit."

Jack had to crane his neck to see, as he hadn't yet received permission to rise from his kneeling position, but he still managed to get a look at the thing in Elmont's hand, and groaned.

A green, curling vine bearing ripe seed pods, one of which was cracked open, revealing six wrinkled, glossy black beans.

Brahmwell's eyes flashed from the beans to Elmont. Their gazes locked.

"Is that what I suspect it is, Elmont?" Brahmwell asked.

Elmont nodded, clenching his jaw in a grim line. "We found this little fellow growing on the edge of the Greenwood. Showed it to the monks and they confirmed it's the same type of plant Roderick filched from King Erik's tomb. The beans it produces are active with dark magic."

"They're growing wild now?"

"Apparently so."

"They'll have to be destroyed." The king sounded weary, and Jack didn't blame him. Those blasted beans nearly destroyed the kingdom, and if they were growing unchecked out in the forests now...Not good.

Apparently, Brahmwell was thinking the same thing. "If anyone finds the beans..."

Elmont sighed, letting his shoulders droop slightly. "Yes, if it were possible to search under every stone, root, and leaf in every forest throughout all of Albion." He stuffed the plant back in its pouch, reattached it to his belt with a few quick movements. "I suppose if any of the beans sprout, we'll know about it."

"So will the giants!" said Jack, all thoughts of propriety momentarily forgotten, along with his stiff back and aching knees.

'They can't cause trouble so long as we have the Crown." Elmont's right hand grasped the hilt of his rapier, stroked the leather gently.

Brahmwell glanced down at Jack, frowning. "Jack, I think it's past time for you to get up. Your oath is accepted." The farmboy obeyed, sending a sheepish smile in Elmont's direction while brushing dust off his breeches.

"Where is Isabelle? We shall discuss this matter over dinner." The king noted Elmont's blank look and sighed. "God save us if she's run off again."

"I think I can guess where she is," said Jack.

"Then go fetch her. I feel I'm in need of a nice mug of ale." The king rubbed at his temples. "Strong ale."

Jack darted down the hallway, retracing the way they'd come. He went gratefully, for the weight of the promise he'd made was starting to sink in, sending his stomach into queasy little flips. And though his quick strides and straight spine said otherwise , he couldn't shrug off the uneasy prickly feeling that the knowing eyes of Isabelle's mother's portrait tracked his every move until he turned down a narrow side passage, a pretty, painted memory of a dead woman on display.

{O}

Isabelle sank down into the goose-feather soft cushions of her favorite chair and opened the thick book upon her lap, turned the brittle, ink-stained pages carefully. Ever since the chaos of last spring when old legends became real and her life changed forever, the castle library went from being an old tower filled with curious tomes and relics to her only true sanctuary. Especially in the evening, when waning autumn sunlight fell in mellow god stripes through the library's high, arched windows. Soon it would be too cold to spend much time here without lighting a fire, and that would be too much to risk among the shelves and stacks of crinkling paper. But for now, the library was a refuge when she needed peace from the endless troop of flowery courtiers, smiling dignitaries, and gossiping servants that bounded throughout the castle like extravagant circus performers getting ready for a show.

The picture, traced in berry-red ink within the pages of the book she held, was of a creature too grotesque for words. A skinless thing with the body of a horse rearing on its hind legs, with a man's torso growing seamlessly from its back, his misshapen head bobbing on its too-thin neck like wheat on a stalk. The artist had used subtle shades of red in defining the creature's exposed muscles, making them appear to pulsate wetly. A stream flowed in front of it, blocking it from reaching the disheveled farmer standing on the other side, his fist raised in defiance.

She read the description of the beast, its name, strengths and weaknesses, and tried to commit as much of it as she could to memory. Folklore and legends, which had fascinated her for most of her life, were becoming an obsession to her now. She absorbed every bit of information she could glean about the fairy realm, the unproven existence of unicorns, even the explicit account of a woman who claimed to have been overly-familiar with a visiting nocturnal demon. She'd put that particular book away unfinished, else Father might mistake the constant blush in her cheeks for fever spots.

Jack had only asked her about this new passion of hers one time, and she'd explained it to him as clearly as she could.

_I want to be ready when the next legend turns out to be real. _

She was about to put the book down when she heard a familiar light step behind her, then a pair of calloused farmboy hands descended upon her shoulders and began massaging them gently.

'And what is this new monstrosity you've discovered?"

Smiling, she leaned back into her chair and gazed up into the eyes of her fiance, catching the playful gleam in them and sending it back through her own mischievous smile. Indeed, those soulful eyes were one of the first qualities that had drawn her to him.

"It's called a knoggelvi."

"A what?!"

She laughed. "It's one of the fairy spirits, and a hideous one at that."

"I'll say." Jack came around to face her, and she felt her stomach give a pleasant little flutter. He stood with his hands clasped before him, his tunic, coat, and breeches so drab and unpretentious he stood out like a plain mouse among Father's court of gaily dressed squirrels. Father had even offered to dress him in the latest royal fashion - consisting of ridiculous looking wigs, boots big enough for draft horses to comfortably slip into, and belts buckled tight enough to sever a man's torso - but he'd politely refused, feeling more at ease in his peasant clothes. It only made her love him more.

He leaned over to get a closer look at the drawing. Isabelle could feel his breath tickling her forehead. "And how do you kill one?"

"You can't kill it. You have to ford a stream or creek. Get running water between you and it, and it can't cross after you." She shut the book gently, laid it on the stack next to her, which teetered precariously. "I hope knoggelvi don't turn out to be real, too. Imagine facing one of them!'

"If all you have to do to escape it is cross running water, I'd take it over a rampaging giant any day."

Laughing, she glided up out of the chair and threw her arms around him. Her dress rustled slightly as he returned the favor, closing her in his strong embrace. His shoulder made a comfortable resting place for her head as she breathed him in, smelling fresh hay, woodsmoke, and falling autumn leaves.

" I had another nightmare last night," she whispered into the rough fabric of his coat.

"About that two-headed freak?" Gentle touch of his fingers in her hair. Without leaving the safety of his shoulder, her answer came out muffled, "Yes."

"He can't come back."

"But what if he does?" Her face felt hot from shame, for she sounded like a five-year old girl jumping at shadows. But this five-year old just found out that those shadows have teeth...and they really do want to eat the last of Erik's kin.

"If he comes back, we'll deal with him." Jack's lips pressed against her forehead, and she exhaled in a long, deep sigh against him. He felt so solid, so reliable. Around them, thin spears of diminishing sunlight played among the shelves, sparking off bits of dust swirling through the air like glitter from a pixie's wings. "I won't let him hurt you." He gently removed her left hand from his shoulder, brought it to his lips, and kissed the sparkling engagement ring on her second finger. A blue sapphire nestled inside a cluster of diamonds. Not as beautiful as the one who wore it, in his opinion, but close. "I promise."

A throat cleared behind them.

"I'm afraid you'll have to cut your little tryst short." Both of them jumped, disengaging from each others arms to find Elmont standing with his arms folded across his chest, his lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappeared. His brown hair looked ruffled, which meant he'd come to them in a blazing hurry. "Something's come up."

It never failed to amaze Isabelle how the Captain of the King's Guardians could move about so silently. She hadn't even heard the telltale click of bootheels on stone. Then again, she had been a bit preoccupied with other things at the time. 'What's happened?"

"Jack's Uncle is here," Elmont said, frowning. "And he claims to have a story to tell."


	3. Chpter 2: Threats

**Title:** Seed of Darkness

**Rating**: T

**Summary:** A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack must use the Crown of Erik to call on some unlikely allies.

**Disclaimer: **No one's paying me for this. I don't own the characters. Please don't sue me. I'm broke so you wouldn't get much.

**chapter 3: Threats**

_This can't be good news. _

That thought was foremost in Jack's mind as he followed his friend's stiff backside down the labyrinth of corridors that led to the Knight's Hall. He shuffled a few steps behind Elmont, and though he knew it was cowardly of him, he hoped that the seasoned Guard Captain would provide temporary cover from the brunt of whatever attack that was going to be launched at him once he stepped past those doors. They were thick doors, too. Solid oak wood, with the filigreed crest of the Guardians carved into the polished grain, but they weren't preventing the raised voices inside from being unheard. One voice in particular made him cringe. He'd endured that voice flinging raspy yells and curses in his general direction since he was six years old, and judging by the earbleedingly-high pitch it was currently raised to, his Uncle was in a flaming hot, crankiness-fueled rage.

"Bit temperamental is he, your Uncle?" Elmont asked mildly.

Jack nodded. A few strands of messy brown hair fell into his face and he brushed them aside, wished fervently that he'd had time to comb through the unruly mop. "Has all the charm and tact of an angry giant."

Elmont's lips curved up in a tight smile. "Well, you know how to handle giants, my friend." He stepped aside, sweeping an arm toward the door gaily. "In you go."

He would've objected, using the admittedly flimsy excuse about protocol dictating that the highest-ranking individual always enters first, if the double-doors hadn't been flung open at that precise moment and a skinny, red-faced farmer hadn't staggered out. His curly white hair floated like pale vapor around his head, framing his hawk-nosed, craggy face. One gnarled hand was clenched into a fist while the other pulled at the collar of his rumpled white shirt. Steel-gray eyes blinked for about half-a-second before latching onto Jack like a fishing spear.

"JACK! CURSE YOU, BOY! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW!"

Even Elmont winced. A passing maid nearly dropped the chamberpot she was carrying. Jack took a deep breath as he cautiously approached the old man, holding his arms out in front of himself in an effort to look as innocent as possible. "Calm down, Uncle! What's happened?"

"THIS!" The farmer turned his head slightly, and Jack sucked in a breath of smoke-laden air as he got a look at the right side of his Uncle's face. The wrinkled skin was black with soot and red blisters were swelling up like fat grapes. Patches of cloud-fluffy hair looked singed, some had even been burned away, revealing tender, inflamed skin underneath. A few tiny wisps were all that remained of one eyebrow. Sliding back a few steps to take it all in, Jack noticed many fraying holes and tears on his Uncle's workclothes, a few of which still smoked slightly.

Jack found his tongue didn't want to work properly and so was grateful when Elmont spoke for him. 'Good Lord, man, what happened to you? And how is it Jack's fault?"

The old man stabbed one crooked, bony finger in his nephew's face, so close that if Jack were standing a step closer, he'd been poked in the eye. "Wasn't it bad enough when your foolishness destroyed my house and brought the giants down on us.? Now you have to bring DRAGONS into it, too?"

'Dragons?" Jack's brain did a mental double-take as the word sank in.

"Dragons." His Uncle nodded. "Destroyed my farm and probably made off with all my livestock, too."

"Dragons aren't real," said Elmont. He was giving the angry peasant the same sort of appraising look he might give an agitated, mentally-unsound beggar in the marketplace.

"Then can you please name any other sort of nasty-tempered, fire-breathin' beast that would swoop down upon a man's livelihood and burn it to cinders?" Elmont's stare took on the tight-jawed, cold-eyed sharpness of a trained warrior, and Uncle visibly wilted, his shoulders slumping and head ducking meekly. "Tis true, I swear."

A sound of approaching footsteps, then King Brahmwell stood silhouetted within the entrance to the Knight's Hall, the heavy doors held open for him by two Guardsmen."Then tell us everything." His tone was mild and kind as he laid a hand on Uncle's shoulder, but Jack read thrumming tension in the stiff way he carried himself. _He hides it well_, _though._ _Uncle's lucky he hasn't gotten himself thrown out by now._

"Your Highness, I-" The old man's voice had finally dropped to a saner volume as he faced the King, to everyone's relief.

"Come inside and sit down, Tiberius." Still keeping one hand firmly on the old man's shoulder, Brahmwell steered him toward the open doors and the Round Table within. "Whatever this is, it is not Jack's fault. He has been within my palace all afternoon, so if he were up to some mischief involving dragons I surely would've known about it." Once the king finished ushering his unruly subject inside, Jack and Elmont followed, Jack looking considerably less dejected from having received Brahmwell's vote of confidence. Elmont spared a glance at his friend, quirking an eyebrow as if to say _Dragons? Really?_

The Knight's Hall was an oval room with high windows, letting in weak evening light and cool air. There was no elegant carpeting to hide the naked, rough-hewn stone, which was constantly swept clean of muddy bootprints, leaves, and any other grime that men who spent their days riding on horseback or practicing their swordplay might track in. As much as he tried to hide it, Jack always took a few seconds to gawk at the vast assortment of weapons mounted on the gray stone walls like solemn decorations, some still tarnished along their cutting edges with rusty-red stains. Swords, spears, axes, shields, every single piece of shining steel once having belonged to a knight whose deeds had long since drifted into the twisted shadowland between fact and legend. The center of the room was taken up by the Round Table, a single piece of pure black stone carved with spiraling symbols that were said to have been made by the Good Neighbors, the secret people of the Greenwood who were supposed to have hunted and sang and fought in Albion long before the first of Brahmwell's kin touched its soil.

Such things made Jack nervous.

"Sit. All of you." Brahmwell's robes swished as he took his seat, a blend of gold and white finery that contrasted with the two lean, sculpted silver lions adorning the back of his chair, facing each other with their glinting teeth bared and manes whipped up like liquid metal froth. Jack took his place next to Elmont, keeping his hands well away from the looping scrawl of eldritch writing on the Table's edge. Through the windows, the last rays of the sun were vanishing behind thick clouds, their ragged edges outlined in blazing scarlet.

"Speak your piece, Tiberius," said the king, steepling his hands as he regarded Uncle levelly.

"I was out tending to my cattle." The old man met the king's eyes briefly, then glanced at Jack. "I'd just finished feeding and watering them. I started heading back to my house, and then this green, scaly_ thing_ drops out of the sky and lands on the roof." The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed nervously. "I just stared at it like a fool. It sniffed at the air like a giant dog. Then it opened its mouth and this great blast of flame came straight at me. I threw myself to one side just in time to escape the worst of it. Most of my poor cows didn't." He paused for a moment to touch one of the blisters on his cheek, then jerked his hand away, grimacing. "Weren't nothing I could do except run. I looked back once to see my home burnin' merrily to the ground and the monster crawlin' like a lizard on all fours, hunting. Wasn't after me, Thank God, else I doubt I'd be among the living now."

"No one else has come to us complaining of dragon attacks," Elmont grumbled.

"Maybe because they're all dead!" Uncle shouted, his voice taking on its normal grouchy-old-guy tone, which told Jack the old codger was brewing himself up a fresh cup of steaming fury.

"Enough." King Brahmwell's unblinking gaze fastened on Uncle, who ducked his head. Seconds ticked by in which the king regarded everyone at the Table, and Jack's entire body felt frozen to his seat. The look the king directed at him was grave, unsmiling, and silently communicated _We may be in for it again, lad. Be ready._ "Elmont, at dawn tomorrow take some men with you and go investigate this man's claims. I presume you'll want to go too, Jack, since this involves your Uncle?"

"Of course, Your Highness!"

"Then, until dawn, gentlemen." The king stood, prompting everyone else to rise with him. A curt nod and they were dismissed, all except for Uncle, who stood with his head bowed and hands in his pockets, for all the kingdom like a boy caught trying to pickpocket a monk's almsbowl. Now that he'd used up all his energy to scream and rant he ceased to be a gaunt, yelling, white-haired recluse and melted down into just a tired, beaten down farmer who'd just lost his home for the second time. Jack wanted to go to him, but feared offering sympathy would be tantamont to throwing himself into a hungry giant's hand. _He looks like a blacksmith attacked by his own forge._

Evidently, Brahmwell thought so too, as he laid a hand on Uncle's shoulder. "Tiberius, we will find a place for you to stay for the night. And for God's sake, ask one of the healers to treat your wounds. They look painful. And, with all due respect, I sincerely do hope you are either deranged or a liar. Fighting off giants was hard enough. Heaven help us if dragons are next!"

{O}

Dawn dragged itself like a pale curtain over the forests and fields of Albion. Billowy white and gray cumulus clouds piled on top of each other, their dense masses drifting through blue space like chunks of slate. Almost as soon as the first speck of light touched the horizon, Elmont collected a yawning, crusty- eyed Jack from his room at the palace, along with a small army of twenty armed Guardians from the barracks - who took to their predawn quest with plenty of muttered cursing - and mounted them all on horseback. An early-morning breeze, still carrying a hint of the previous night's frost, buffeted Jack's hair and face as he rode alongside Elmont, whipping through his coat so that it flapped around him like a thrush's wings. Birds twittered among the swaying branches of pine, spruce, and poplar trees growing in clumps at the edges of the Greenwood, their natural, friendly little chirps helping to calm the nagging worry buzzing through Jack's brain like a persistent little fly.

He stared intently over the ivory mane of his horse, contemplating the rolling green field spread out like a hunter's cloak before him. The last time he'd been out this way, he'd been galloping like a fiend from hell, trying to stay ahead of an army of marauding giants while warning as many people as he could about the danger. It was hard for him to keep from glancing over his shoulder every few minutes.

"So, what do you think, Jack? Is your Uncle completely starkers?" Jack was so lost in painfully-vivid memories he hadn't even noticed Elmont rein his black charger alongside his flank, bringing them almost shoulder-to-shoulder. "Personally, I think the man's one herring shy of a full net."

Jack's horse nickered softly, tossing its shaggy head. The farmboy sighed. "He's not the type to make up stories. 'That's my job,' he'd always say."

"And if by some astounding chance he's telling the truth, are you prepared to fight?"

"I'm one of you, aren't I? Of course I'll fight." _But I don't know how I can win. _Everything Jack had ever read about dragons said they were nearly indestructible, with hard scales impenetrable to arrows, teeth as sharp as swords, and an ability to scorch everything around them with flame. His stomach felt heavier the closer they got to Uncle's farm, as though he'd eaten iron balls instead of bread for breakfast.

Jack's spirits lifted slightly at seeing the old windmill again. Some repairs had been made since the giants nearly destroyed it. The blades were up and spinning again, operating the machinery that ground the latest batch of harvested wheat into flour. Gusts today would likely be strong enough to power it for hours. In the distance, the jagged points of the Giant's Teeth loomed; mist-shrouded, gray mountains glowered down upon the land like disapproving ancestors. Jack nape tingled at the sight. The irony of their name was not lost on him.

"Easy now, lads. The old man's farm is right over the next hill. We may be entering hostile territory." Elmont's command snapped Jack back into the present, and he gripped the reins of his horse tighter. He peered straight ahead as they crested the hill, tall grass rising up to meet them, then falling away to reveal the scene below. Jack gaped.

Trails of black smoke still rose from what was left of the thatched roof, most of it having collapsed into rugged piles. The acrid smell of burnt wood stung his nose even as his irritated eyes began to tear up. Jack kept his horse alongside Elmont as they approached. Small fires still clung to bits and pieces of shattered timber, forcing the horses to carefully choose their steps as they drew closer. Jack's horse snorted and whinnied softly, its ears pricked forward and nostrils flared as though it smelled something bad. He stroked its mane, rubbed the velvet tuft of one ear, and spared a glance up at the sky.

Slices of clear blue opening for short seconds between amorphous swells of chalky white, shifting and reforming like cracked glaze. Putting a hand up to shield his eyes, Jack held his breath, scanning.

"Jack! Come here!" Elmont's shout, tight and controlled. Jack tugged at the reins, urging his reluctant mount toward where Elmont sat astride his horse, beckoning, a cluster of Guardians already gathering around him. They seemed to be staring at a patch of ground, and when Jack got closer he could see why. Pools of blood saturated the churned-up earth, hunks of grass, soil, and animal dung all mixed into a damp, reddish-brown quagmire. Twin trails of spilled red ran in drips nd smears back to the splintered remains of a white picket fence; formerly an animal pen, now charred-black in places. The smell of smoke and burned meat was thick in the air, and Jack had to croon reassurances into his horse's twitching ear in an attempt to settle its nervous prancing. The other Guardians were having similar trouble with their own mounts, and Elmont looked stone-faced and grim.

"Well, there it is," the knight said. He scanned the assembled crowd, eyes lingering for a moment on Jack, then flicking away. "Something happened here, but no evidence to prove the culprits were anything other than simple raiders."

A Guardian with shoulder-length brown hair shook his head. "Raiders wouldn't slaughter the animals like this."

Elmont snapped, "Maybe they caught them on a bad day. Who knows?"

They lapsed into a heated debate about the habits of raiders and how they acquired their ill-gotten goods and what they did with them afterwards and how this whole expedition had nothing to go on but the word of a cranky old man who, a few argued, most likely got drunk and torched the place himself. Others insisted it had to be some kind of animal attack, maybe wolves or bears, but such creatures wouldn't have been capable of burning everything to the ground so that led them right back to the same explanation, which was no explanation at all. The wash of raised male voices quickly turned into a buzz in Jack's ears and he sidled his horse away from the stamping and arguing, feeling uneasy and restless. He rolled his shoulders, once, twice, trying to ease out some of the tension. Stretching his neck, he let his head tip backwards, casting his eyes to the mixture of blue sky and clouds above.

Just in time to mark its path as a dark shape flicked through a gap of blue between two dove-gray clouds.

'Um, Elmont?" Jack's heart began beating like a frightened sparrow in his chest. "I think..."

A large, misshapen mass of red and white splatted to the ground just a few feet away from the farmboy. The impact was hard enough to send wet little droplets flying in all directions, landing on the faces and uniforms of the circle of Guardians. All argument cut off mid-sentence as though a whip had been cracked across their noses and they turned as one to stare at the sad, mutilated thing that had once been a cow. The horns were still there, which made it recognizably bovine in nature, but the rest of it was chewed-up and glistening wet, with huge chunks of it missing and the muscles exposed. the bones looked thin and melted away, as if they'd been steeping in acid.

From somewhere in the stunned crowd a tremulous voice said,"Ewww."

And then all hell broke loose.

**Author's Note:** While writing this, I got tired of referring to Jack's Uncle as just "Uncle" or "old man." So I decided to give the guy a name. "Tiberius" sounds kind of grouchy but with some of its dignity left, so I thought it suited him. I wanted him to come off just as much of a jerk as he did in the movie, but with his second home newly obliterated he kind of has a reason to be that way.

I don't beg for reviews but it would be nice to get some feedback. I'll keep going regardless. This story is my obsession.


	4. Chapter 3: Lizards

**Title:** Seed of Darkness

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack must use the Crown of Erik to summon some unlikely allies.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor make any profit from, the characters in this story.

**Snicket Warning Label**: This chapter contains violence, blood, and the death of a major character. If such things are upsetting to you, then, boy, are you reading the wrong fanfiction!

**Chapter 3: Lizards**

It fell out of the sky like a hammer, landing with a solid, ground-shaking thump that sent up a murky tornado of dirt, grass, and bits of stony debris. Smells of loam and blood burst into the air as damp chunks of displaced earth settled all around them. Shouts went up, accompanied by the muffled beats of stamping horses. Jack wiped at his eyes with the back of one shaking, grime-streaked hand and was almost thrown from his mount as it reared up, tossing its sleek head and neighing frantically along with a confused mess of panicked animals and cursing Guardians. When the dust cleared, every man grew silent, staring in slack-jawed amazement.

A winged lizard, easily as long as ten men from snout to tail-tip, crouched over the pile of wet meat that used to be a cow. It uncoiled itself slowly as Jack's stunned brain picked out details. It's toothy snout tapered down into a wicked curved beak, and a memory streaked across his consciousness of the first time he'd been introduced to the king's hunting falcons. Cruel, nasty things made for killing, he'd thought. But this creature put those little birds to shame. Its hide was the dark, mottled-green of old pine forests, covered in scaly armor that glinted like enamel. A fringe of gleaming-black spikes curved backwards along it's jowls, and the top of its triangle-shaped head was crowned by two sharp, obsidian horns. Below the surface oiled muscles rippled and bulged smoothly when it moved. It lifted up one foreleg and laid a pebble-rough foot on the haunch of the dead cow, thin skeins of webbing stretched between the toes as it splayed out four lacquered black claws, then buried them into the meat with a sound like a butcher's blade sinking into a side of beef. There was a flash of bright red tongue as its mouth opened, the head twisted as it tore off a slice of ragged, blood-wet cowflesh that was swiftly gulped down.

"Easy, men." Elmont's hoarse whisper carried well in the near total silence. The only sounds were the stamping of snorting, frightened horses, bridles jangling, and the heavy breathing of terrified men. The knight caught Jack's eye, nodded as if to say _Be ready_. A cold finger slid down Jack's spine when he noticed even the birds had stopped singing. _That's never a good sign_. "Hold your fire! We don't want to provoke it!" Elmont snapped. "Fall back to-"

A bow twanged. An arrow zipped past Jack's ear with only inches to spare, struck the dragon right on the bony ridges covering its forehead and bounced off. harmless as a mayfly.

"Didn't I just say don't shoot?" Elmont yelled, and Jack had a half-second in which to mentally curse himself for not thinking to grab a fireproof shield from the armory before setting out this morning.

The dragon's head came up, gore dripping from its jaws. Oval-shaped yellow eyes regarded them with a slow, reptilian blink. Black pupils thinned down to slits as the mouth opened, and leathery folds of skin on its neck expanded as air was sucked down in one huge gulp.

"RUN!" Jack was already wheeling his horse out of the way when the blast hit. A cloud of red-orange flame erupted behind him as heated wind gusted around him, ripping at the sleeves of his coat and crisping few strands of loose hair. The world became a blur of shouts, screams, and galloping horses. Jack glanced over his shoulder to see a horse and rider, both of them engulfed in flames, running madly alongside him. The poor horse missed a step and toppled over, flames eating away its flesh, turning the bones to black , brittle cinders. Sparks rained down around him, setting small patches of grass ablaze. He held on grimly as his poor horse plowed through smoking brushfires, its terror so great that any thoughts of slowing down or stopping never crossed its mind. Jack whispered a silent prayer of relief when he broke through a wall of smoke to see Elmont ahead of him, galloping on his black charger and shouting orders.

"Fall back! Get out of range!"

_You don't need to tell me, friend._ Smoke mixed with the sick-sweet stench of roasting human meat almost made him gag as he kicked his horse's sides, heading for the knot of Guardians forming a disciplined line around the Captain. The archers had their bows drawn and, as soon as he barreled in among them, let the first volley fly. His horse stamped and neighed as he made it turn to face the dragon, whose green snout was half-buried in the charred remains of one of the fallen soldiers, the pits of its nostrils flared wide. The arrows struck its chest, legs, and head only to bounce off like acorns, their shafts bent and points broken.

"This is not good," Elmont said.

Breathing hard, hearing his own blood pounding in his ears, Jack watched the dragon shudder like a dog shaking off water. It spread its wings - ribbed, translucent-green membranes wide enough to fill the entirety of the king's throne room - whipped back its head and screeched a single, piercing note like a hawk's cry dragged out and amplified tenfold. A few breathless seconds ticked by. The dragon became utterly still, folded its wings close to its sides, and glared at them with snake-slit, golden yellow eyes.

"It's just sitting there." Jack drew up alongside Elmont, who held the reins of his charger in a white- knuckled grip. Smoldering bits of leaves along with drifts of white powder crumbled from his armor when he moved. Jack tasted bile in his mouth when he realized the white stuff was human ash.

"I've got a bad feeling about this." Weary resignation colored every word as the Guard Captain met his eyes.

Cold wind buffeted Jack's face, reddening his cheeks and icing the sweat on his brow as the morning chill deepened. The light around them dimmed as though an enormous hand was blocking out the sun. Everyone looked up.

Dragons dropping out of the sky like rain, their wings folded close in a huge, synchronized dive.

Jack's horse reacted faster than he did. It bolted, hooves tearing furrows in the soft dirt, and there was nothing for him to do except hold on with a deathgrip as wind whipped his hair back and scoured his face. Around him the Guardians were doing the same, the rolling field offering very little cover and no defensible positions. Jack watched, helpless, as dragons swooped out of the sky with an eerie grace, their hind legs extending and claws flexing. Men were plucked from their saddles and carried screaming up into the clouds. Amid the cacophony of rushing wind, screams, and galloping hooves Jack could barely hear Elmont shouting. Or maybe it was _him_; his throat felt as raw as if he'd swallowed sand. The air trembled as a shadow fell across him and his numb fingers yanked hard on the reins, his horse just barely cantering to the left in time to avoid the curved claws. They snapped shut on the air he'd previously occupied with a loud click. Whoever was behind him wasn't so lucky. Jack heard the dry-paper rustle of enormous wings, then a scream that dwindled away as the winged lizard carried its victim off.

"They're heading for Cloister!" Elmont's shout. Coming from right net to him. And Jack - forcing himself to slow down and think through the haze of fear and gut-churning nausea clouding his mind - realized he was right. Nothing was coming out of the sky now except body parts - arms and legs and an occasional torso, all chewed-up and plopping to the ground with moist little smacks.

The dragons were flying in loose formation ahead of them, angling slightly to the east, having caught the tantalizing scent of large quantities of human flesh.

Jack's hands shook as he jerked the reins, bringing his exhausted mount to a halt long enough to take stock. Of the twenty men who'd rode out this morning, only eight were left. Eight haggard men, all streaked in black soot, sweat, and blood. Soon Elmont was beside him, white-faced and clutching his right shoulder - the armor there was marred by a very jagged, deep claw mark - and together they watched, horrified, as the plague of dragons arced through the clouds, becoming dark, dangerous specks in the sky above their home.

"This is definitely not good." Elmont said, and Jack wholeheartedly agreed.

{O}

Isabelle had to escape again.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the company of Anastasa and the other maids. It wasn't that she was trying to spite her father with yet another show of disobedience. It wasn't even that she'd stopped by the palace kitchen for a loaf of bread and stumbled upon the skinny senior cook whistling tunelessly while chopping vegetables. He'd wished her good morning, to which she'd stammered a hasty reply, then made a quick exit. _The poor man doesn't even know why I avoid him now_, she thought, giving the inside of her cheek a good nip as penance, _but I was in a kitchen like his once before, and not as a guest either. _

She'd been on the menu.

But it wasn't any of those things. It was simply that the stone walls were once again turning as stifling as mud clogging her throat, so dense that just sipping air took an act of will. Even the library, her place of refuge, was becoming too small a space. She needed to feel blue sky above her and the bustling of common folk around her, every shoddy-shoed, hard-knuckled one of them weighted with their own individual burden, dealing with it in their own unique way that still left room for dignity and hopefulness. She needed to understand them. To know them.

She needed to see the world.

So she'd waited until the stable boys had finished feeding and watering the animals before insisting that Anastasa take time to finish her latest creation of pearls, topaz, and rose quartz strung together on silver thread. Her lady-in-waiting was being kept so busy between palace chores and following Isabelle around like a faithful lapdog that she was more than happy to have an hour to just sit and make jewelry. _It reminds me of my father,_ she would say. _Sometimes I think I feel his hands guiding me._ With Ana happily occupied with several lengths of thread plus an assorted pile of sparkling polished gems, Isabelle declared that she was going out for some air and left the jewelry-maker to her beads.

It was warm in the stable, the exhaled breath, body heat and musk of horses in close proximity was like a familiar blanket thrown over her shoulders after sneaking past sleepy palace guards out into brittle morning air, being careful to keep a simple peasants cloak pulled over her face and her head down. She doubted the guards would've tried to stop her from leaving, but they would've certainly informed her father. And he would worry about her as only a man whose daughter came a hairsbreadth away from ugly death several times over knows how. She hated to make things hard for him, but hopefully she would be gone and back again without anyone ever knowing. Shaking out her long hair from beneath the cloak, she strode past rows of stalls to the shelves at the east end, where the horse tack was stored. A few horses nudged their muzzles over the wooden planks as she passed, chewing meditatively while following her with soft, liquid brown eyes.

Weak morning sun began filtering through gaps in the wooden walls by the time she finished brushing the last tangle out of Victoria's mane. The mare tossed her head and nickered in pleasure as Isabelle stroked its clean, white softness. "Ready to ride, my darling?" Isabelle asked while stowing the brushes away and fetching the saddle. Made of strong, oiled leather, her fingers slid over its surface as she buckled it on. Victoria stamped and tossed her head again.

She mounted up and had just pulled her left leg into the stirrup when she heard his voice.

"Isabelle?"

_Oh no_. A mad urge to throw the cloak over her shoulders and huddle inside its hood jolted through her, but she knew it was already too late. He couldn't possibly mistake her, clad in gray riding boots, white trousers and matching tunic, sitting astride a horse for good measure. Instead she ducked her head, letting long strands of chestnut hair cover her face, feeling as if she were a rambunctious nine-year old princess caught playing with straw dolls in the hayloft all over again.

King Brahmwell stood with the sun at his back, his arms crossed, blocking the dusty path leading through the wide-open stable doors like a mountain blocking the sea. Her fingers uncurled from Victoria's reins and busied themselves with picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of her tunic. "Father," she muttered. "I-"

"Isabelle. Look at me."

She did, and saw he too was dressed for riding, wearing stiff, rugged brown trousers and a heavy green and brown patterned cloak that fastened at his throat, hanging on him almost like a monk's robe.

"I saw your eyes at breakfast and they told me you'd find your way out here soon enough." A small smile crinkled the corners of his mouth. From her horseback viewpoint, she could see the streaks of gray in his dark hair. A few had turned stark white since last spring, around the time a beanstalk sprouted and she'd gone missing. Hot shame boiled up inside her, leaving a sour trace in the back of her throat.

"Father, I'm sorry."

"I won't forbid you to leave the palace, child." He approached the stalls. his booted heels scuffling through thick layers of dust and bits of grain. "If you're encounter with the Gantuans didn't scare the wanderlust out of you, I fear there's nothing an old man like myself can do to keep you in one place."

A small laugh escaped her, bursting out like a soapbubble. She swayed in the saddle as Victoria stamped restlessly beneath her. Leaning forward, she whispered in the mare's ears. "Be still." The horse whinnied and would've trotted forward if Isabelle hadn't jerked on the reins. Her father watched their little display, raising his bushy eyebrows in amusement. "Now you know how I feel."

"She's high-spirited, that's for sure." Isabelle could feel her face growing hot and spent a moment in intense contemplation of a robin's nest attached to a crossbeam above them. When she looked back her father was throwing a saddle over the back of a large bay. Possibly the most beautiful animal in the stable aside from her own sweet Victoria, Thunder was a sleek, living sculpture of well-defined muscle stretched beneath a smooth reddish-brown coat. The horse flicked its glossy black tail as the last strap was fastened. King Brahmwell mounted up in one quick, efficient motion that a man half his age would've envied. Isabelle felt water sting her eyes and a swift, sweet ache in the core of her heart as her father turned in the saddle and gazed at her without a trace of anger or resentment.

"May I accompany you on this morning's adventure?" he asked.

"Of course," she answered, speaking around the rock in her throat.

They took a meandering path down into the village, passing a group of palace guards who obediently raised the wrought-iron gate that would admit them into the village square. The guards raised their fingers in quick salutes as they passed, ice-bright morning sun streaming over dull, steel-gray armor as they moved, their red capes flapping and rustling in the wind like blood-coated wings. The sounds and smells of town life closed around them, horses trotting on cobblestone streets, merchants bellowing about the quality of their goods, using truth, half-truth, and baldfaced lies to entice buyers. Isabelle could hear the hammer of a blacksmith striking steel somewhere. Upon turning a corner, Victoria nearly trod over an old, gray-robed woman squatting down at the very edge of the street. An herbalist's three-leaf charm was knotted around the crone's throat with brown thread and rows of potted plants were arranged around her like soldiers. Isabelle smelled sage, lemonbalm, and basil. _Quite a combination_, she thought wryly, shaking her head to clear the fog of cloying scent. _I should've brought some money. The cook could probably use some of those plants. Maybe I'd even give them to him myself, if I could stand to be in the kitchen that long._

The princess jumped in the saddle as a heavy gong clanged, the sound carrying from several streets away. It rang seven more times, sharp, clear peals that drowned out the squabble of street noise around them.

"The monks certainly do like their bells," her father remarked, cupping a hand to his right ear and grimacing. No one had singled out his presence yet, as his face was well-hidden underneath his cloak. And even if some sharp-eyed person recognized him Isabelle doubted anyone would be fool enough to attack the king while surrounded by his subjects in broad daylight. All of Cloister loved him.

"Indeed they do," she nodded. The abbey bells tolled every hour to mark the time, and occasionally for no reason at all other than to remind people to think holy thoughts. Not many bothered to pay attention before giants started falling out of the sky, then the brotherhood became all the rage as peasants flocked to be anointed and children were sent off in droves to receive a religious education. Through a haze of dust, Isabelle could just barely see the roof of the abbey's steeple rising above the bakery and sweetshop like a red-rimmed tooth, the thick coat of clay steaming under the sun's touch.

"I hope they're keeping their holy relics under closer supervision these days,' she muttered, then had to pull up sharp on the reins as a pair of fat chickens fluttered across her path, their flaming rooster tails held high, flapping wings strewing drifts of white feathers in their wake. Up ahead, a farmer in a faded straw hat cursed furiously at the skinny, dark-haired boy who'd apparently bumped his cart, tipping it just enough to give his clucking merchandise a chance to escape.

Thunder's mane rippled like fresh oil as her father brought him to a halt beside her. "I don't blame the monks for what happened. I blame men like Roderick who think they can control forces best left alone." King Brahmwell sighed. A crease appeared between his eyebrows as his jaw clenched. "I still can't believe he betrayed us. And he would've let the Gantuans eat you..?"

"It's over, Father. He's dead."They rode together side by side, neither one speaking for several minutes. It made Isabelle's stomach hurt to see how deeply Roderick's selfishness had wounded her father. He'd taken everything else - the beanstalk, the Gantuans, even the invasion in stride, but the revelation that the friend he'd confided to and been counseled by for years would've let them all die just so he could sit on the throne and play at being king had cut him, and cut him deep.

Up ahead, a crowd of people gathered round a squat little building draped in orange and gold banners. Isabelle knew it immediately.

"Father, here's the theater where I met Jack!"

"Ah." Her father's mood brightened considerably at the mention of her fiance. They steered their horses closer to the theater. Sounds of laughter and applause drifted out from behind the fluttering banners that served as a door. The place was decorated for a special performance. Freshly harvested pumpkins had been arranged in haphazard little patches around the entrance, and scents of spiced candy, roasted meat, and fermentation clung to the thin wooden walls. A performer dressed in only a loincloth made of woven sticks and a beret of deer's antlers spiraling in skeletal corkscrews from the top of his head emerged, shoving aside the autumnal banners with a knobby fist. He staggered toward them, muttering to himself and reeking of apple mead, when he glanced at Isabelle, did a double take, and dropped to his knees with all the grace of an arthritic cow.

"Your Highness!" he slurred. "You grace my humble theater with your presence again!"

"Oh, get up, Merek!" she snapped, waving a hand at him. "Don't draw attention to us!"

"Yes, Your Highness!" His bony knees creaked audibly in his haste to rise from his miserably-executed prostration. He lifted up a slim-fingered hand, intending to tug at his untamed mop of wild brown hair, only to jab his forefinger on the sharp end of an antler. She could see him bite back a curse, and the corner of her moth twitched from trying to hide her smile._ If only Father knew how many improper words I've learned from this man._ "You are most welcome to come in and watch the show! It will begin again in one hour!'

"We're just passing by, Merek, but thank you." Isabelle stifled a groan. _Merek, you should know by now that you don't have to treat me as anything other than your friend. _

"We?" The player peered at her father, whose face was partially hidden beneath the hood of his cloak. Then Merek's bloodshot eyes widened, his flabby cheeks blanched, and he moved as if to bow again until Isabelle frowned while making a slashing gesture with her free hand. Taking the hint, the player simply nodded politely and let his storklike legs carry him off, presumably in the direction of the nearest tavern, the bracken loincloth creaking and popping as he walked.

"They know you well here, I take it?" Her father kept his vice level, but there was a quizzical tilt to his head and both eyebrows were raised as high as his forehead permitted. She sighed. Her legs were beginning to ache in the stirrups and the cold wind beating against her clothes wasn't helping. _We should go back_, she thought, feeling goosebumps creep over her skin like frozen bees, stinging as they went so that she had to unhook her fingers from the reins and rub warmth back into her wrists. From the corner of her eye she saw that the dark-haired boy who'd bumped the farmer's cart earlier was now standing by a fruit seller's tent watching them, his scrawny arms folded across his chest as he shivered. _At least I'm not the only one who's uncomfortable. _"I come here often. Whenever I can, anyway."

"Isabelle...' His voice trailed off, and she braced herself for another lecture on the many dangers of the world and why she should stay safe in the palace and avoid eccentrics like Merek and...

"Your mother would be proud of you."

Her whole body jerked, as if an invisible finger had just plucked every sensitive nerve ending in her abdomen and left them vibrating. She looked over at his old, wrinkled, beloved face, saw the sincerity in his eyes, and turned quickly away. It was only the second time this morning she'd felt like crying.

"Do you think so?" she asked. They were riding casually, letting the horses do most of the navigation themselves. Some of the merchant crowd had dispersed with the day's produce sold, the lucky ones going home with a few coppers in their pockets, but there was still plenty of foot traffic in the narrow streets. She inhaled deeply of the mixture of foul and sweet aromas that made up life in Cloister, and listened to her father.

"You faced creatures out of legend and survived. You haven't let your status as a princess stop you from having adventures, despite my best efforts," he said, a wry smile crinkling his face. "And I know once you become Queen, you'll make the world a better place."

"Oh yes, she would be so very proud of you."

Isabelle could feel her face getting hot. Her father reached over and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"As am I," he said

It was difficult speaking around the lump in her throat. "Father, I-"

Whatever she'd been about to say was cut off by a high, shrill scream. Isabelle whipped her head around, scanning the crowds around them. Every peasant in the street stood frozen, whatever games they'd been playing or goods they'd been trading or arguments they'd been having forgotten. All wore expressions of slack-jawed amazement mixed with fear. Following their eyes, Isabelle realized they were staring in the direction of the abbey. And then she saw why.

A huge creature resembling a green, serpentine gargoyle perched on the abbey roof. Its clawed forelegs dug into the soft clay, cracking it like dry bread. Sunlight reflected off curved teeth poking out of the sides of its crooked mouth, gleaming stark-white against lizard scales, and even with several streets between her and the monster Isabelle could hear the wet, snuffling sounds of its breathing.

Sniffing.

Her mouth turned as dry as preserved bones in a tomb. Victoria snorted, flanks heaving as she backed up a step, then two.

"Father," she said softly. "I think we should..."

"Run!" Metallic scrape of steel being drawn, and from beneath his cloak her father produced a sword she hadn't even known he'd been carrying. "Get back to the palace! RUN!"

No sooner had he given the order than the creature leapt from the abbey roof onto the street below. It landed on all fours, cracking the stones beneath it. Sound of panic-filled screaming as it made a lunge like a snapping terrier and caught a young woman around the waist, locking her body like a landed trout in its jaws. Blood sprayed from the sides of its mouth as the beast bit down, the woman's thrashing legs beat the air, and dark splotches oozed like thick syrup over the hem of her lavender dress.

Huge shadows flowed like cold seawater over the cobblestones as monsters filled the sky overhead. Isabelle's own shouts of warning were swallowed up by a stream of frightened, screaming people. Victoria bucked, straining to move within the crush of people shoving them forward, and something tugged violently at Isabelle's right leg, nearly yanking her out of the saddle until Victoria lashed out with both front hooves. There was a crunch, a yelp of pain, and Isabelle had just enough time to catch a glimpse of her would-be horse thief - a slim, wiry young man in a brown tunic, now bleeding, dazed, and crumpled on his back like an injured spider - before he disappeared beneath a living carpet of trampling feet.

"Father!" Isabelle jerked the reins hard. The horse's flanks shivered as it swung itself around, squared its shoulders, and fought step by step to move against the tide of people. Dragons were landing all around the square like hideous sparrows, devouring anyone within range of their jaws, while still more dove out of the sky to snatch up a wriggling peasant or two, then arrowed back up into the shelter of the clouds.

_Where is Father? _Her eyes darted through the blur of faces, trying to catch sight of a familiar cloak. She could see the theater, or the parts of it that still remained standing. Half of it was now a pile of wood chips and collapsed support beams, its red and orange banners lay strewn across the demolished foundation like spilled fruit. A dragon crouched near the ruin with the head and legs of a man dangling from the sides of its mouth, and as Isabelle drew closer she nearly vomited when she saw the ring of branches clasped around his waist as well as a single antler stump twisted in his hair. Merek was mercifully quiet as the dragon gnawed on his body.

There was no time to feel grief, rage, or even sad acceptance. Because from somewhere in the crowd she heard fresh screams.

High-pitched, terrified children's screams.

Isabelle kicked Victoria's flanks. the horse leaped forward, her hooves striking sparks as they hit stone, forcing the trickle of panicked survivors left in the street to dive out of her way like quicksilver. There was no time to be gentle. _How many made it to the city gates? _she wondered, and then there was no time to think at all because she heard her father's voice raised in a defiant challenge, followed by the clear high note of a sword striking something hard.

"FATHER!" Her scream was swallowed up by an angry screech. More sword strikes, then the heartbreaking screams of a dying horse. Isabelle's hair fanned out in an auburn curtain as Victoria leapt over a shattered cart, zigzagged through a narrow, trash-strewn alley, burst out into a patch of struggling sunlight on the street facing the abbey. The buildings on either side of the temple had been pulverized into steaming lumps of granite. Streamers of white dust floated in braids and coils through the air as she focused all her attention on the bubbling sound of a child sobbing nearby. Spotted the peasant boy a second later huddled on the cold flagstones, his thin frame drawn up into a tight ball. Wrenching her legs free of the stirrups, she leapt off the saddle, nearly spraining her left ankle as she landed in a crouch next to the boy. Felt jarring recognition flash through her mind as she marked him as the dark-haired boy she'd spied watching her earlier.

Then she looked up, and felt everything in her turn to ice.

Before the wide steps leading up to the abbey doors Thunder lay quivering and squealing, both his front legs reduced to stumps sheared off to the knees, his beautiful tawny coat spattered with blood that trickled down in streams to form a pool around him. Her father lay sprawled on the steps beside him, one leg twisted at a horribly wrong angle, the gray length of his sword several feet away from his hand. She could see with startling clarity twin trails of blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, branching around the planes of his nose, and watched him lift a shaking hand to wipe it away.

Just as the dark shape of the dragon materialized out of a veil of cloudlike dust before him, its toothy predator mouth opening up wide.

"NO!" Time slowed down. She was up and running, but her body felt heavy and each step was too slow, too slow, and by the time she was seven feet away the monster's mouth was already clamping around her father's head, and the crunch of his skull being bitten off his shoulders was lost beneath her wild screaming. When she was five feet away, the beast was tossing its head back and the underside of its throat rippled as it swallowed, and as she closed the final three feet she realized her father's sword was now in her hands while her voice threw itself at the monster in an unearthly howl of rage and grief.

It uncoiled like a viper as it came for her, its jaws flung open wide, the canines dripping foamy, blood-tinged saliva. Fetid breath moistened her face with damp heat as it hissed, slimed the backs of her hands and the sword hilt as she drove the blade forward. Her arms slipped up to the elbows between its teeth, skimmed the wet red meat of its tongue, and her whole body shook from the force of the impact as the blade buried itself in soft, vulnerable tissue.

A stream of noxious fluid gushed out, purplish ichor that ran like berryjuice over the length of the sword, spattering hot droplets into her face. The creature whipped its head back while she doggedly hung on, her gore-soaked hands wrapped in a deathgrip around the hilt as her father's blade tore free of the meat, widening the hole at the back of the beast's throat. The force of its screech blew her hair back and she had bare seconds to scramble away before its body spasmed, wings flapping and legs writhing in convulsive little jerks. Isabelle was on her feet stumbling away when instinct told her to drop to the ground just as a barbed tail sliced the air over her head. The dragon's screams reached a painful crescendo, faded into a gentle, rasping hiss, and Isabelle felt the stones tremble as dead reptilian flesh thumped against them.

She was shaking, her blood thundering in her temples. Over her shoulder. she caught a glimpse of the dragon crumpled in on itself with that strange purple blood dribbling in little pools from its half-open mouth, wings limp as dried leather stretched over a rack. She felt filthy, a mixture of saliva and blood coated her arms all the way up to the elbows. Smoke and the ripe scent of spoiled meat clung to her, making her gag. Then her foot caught on something, she looked down to see her father's headless corpse, and the world pitched sideways as she fell to her hands and knees beside him, the meager breakfast she'd eaten coming up in one long, caustic stream.

Ringing in her ears. And voices, close by but sounding oh so very far.

"Isabelle!"

"Dear God, the king...!"

"Isabelle, are you all right?"

_Jack! _Felt his arms around her. Would have cried out, if only her mouth would work properly. _Jack! Jack!_

"Take the boy! Get them to the palace NOW!"

Isabelle was lifted up, her body so much deadweight in Jack's arms, and she slipped with a grateful sigh into gentle, forgiving darkness.

**Author's Notes:** I wrangled with this chapter for almost three weeks before I called it done and I'm still not sure I got it right. Isabelle may seem a bit OOC near the end but bear in mind what she just witnessed. Seeing her father die like that just might be enough to push her over the edge long enough to do something completely irrational (and badass!). I promise she's not going to turn into some monster-slaying Terminator (especially not once she's brought face to faces with a certain giant), but I want to give her chances to actually do cool stuff instead of always being the damsel in distress. And I do feel really bad about killing off Brahmwell. He was a better fictional king than most of the real kings throughout human history, but for the sake of the plot he had to go. Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!


	5. Chapter 4: Legends

**Title:** Seed of Darkness

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack must use the Crown of Erik to call on some unlikely allies. Isabelle/Fallon, Fumm/OC

**Disclaimer:** I'm not making a dime off this story. Poor me.

**Chapter Five: Legends**

The book's spine creaked as Isabelle slammed it shut, then tossed it aside. It skidded across a long tabletop to bump up against a pile of similarly discarded tomes with fantastical creatures on each cover, their warped, twisted bodies painstakingly outlined in silver and gold. Each volume was stuffed with brittle paper, making them as heavy as old mountain stones inscribed with long-forgotten knowledge. Knowledge that was, in the case at hand, absolutely useless.

Isabelle blew out a huff of frustrated anger, a long exhale that lifted a few lank strands of hair out of her dark-rimmed eyes. She glanced over at the arched window. The palace was far enough away from the marketsquare that no smoke could be seen, but she imagined she could smell a faint acrid sting riding on the breeze, flesh cooking and bones charring in an agony of unholy fire.

Her kingdom was burning.

She didn't remember Jack carrying her back to the palace after the massacre in the village. They said she'd slept through a whole day and half of the next. Long enough for things to go from dismal to absolutely terrifying. Elmont had brought as many people as he could into the palace for safekeeping. Guards were posted on the walls around Cloister, changing shifts at regular intervals, and the drawbridge was raised. _Not that it does much good_, she thought miserably. _The dragons just fly merrily right over it. _

Worst of all was knowing that there were still people out there in the streets. The palace wasn't large enough to hold everyone. Anyone left outside either learned very quickly how to survive or died. Elmont had been reluctant to tell her the details until she'd commanded him to do so. _People hurry about their business while constantly checking the skies,_ he'd said. _Most of them won't come out at all, but huddle in any buildings still standing. There's food shortages and disease, among other lovely things._

Every time the lizards swooped out of the sky to attack Cloister, her brave Guardians challenged them. And every time, the Guardians suffered casualties while inflicting none. Arrows were shrugged off like sticks. Swords couldn't cut through the tough hide. None of the kingdom's finest warriors could put so much as a scratch on them.

Except for her. And she was being kept within the safety of the palace. As usual.

She stood up, stalked over to a bookshelf, and pulled out another book. _They have to have weaknesses,_ she thought as she dropped the book on the desk. It fell open onto a beautiful full-page illustration of a silver gryphon in flight, which Isabelle barely glanced at before turning to another chapter. _Even the giants would go down if you shot enough arrows into them!_ Her eyes itched as her tired brain tried to decipher the tight, closely-packed writing. She blinked, and the letters swam as though they were beneath an inch of clear water. So many sleepless nights spent in the library was showing in bags under her eyes. Knots as thick as morning-glory vines were in her hair. And her mood, well, it was not at its best at the moment.

"Isabelle?" She jumped, so absorbed in research she didn't even hear him approach. For such a gangly young man, Jack was ever light on his feet. Took a moment to gather herself before turning to face him, certain that he would look just as bad or worse than she did.

She was right; he looked horrid. His cheeks were smudged with dirt and ash, while his cloak and breeches smelled as though they'd been left to dry in a fireplace. His cheekbones were more prominent than usual, the cherub-soft angles of his face having been pared down so that he appeared half-starved. He was carrying a wooden tray bearing a few pieces of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a few thin slivers of apple. A small knife was placed on the edge and looked perilously close to falling off.

"Anastasa said you chased her off when she tried to feed you," he said, then set the tray down next to the book she was currently studying. Isabelle gulped as her face grew warm. Ana had come by earlier with a pot of tea and biscuits, only to be told_ I'm too busy! Go away!_ She'd gone, of course, obedient servant that she was - but it still left a bitter taste in Isabelle's mouth for being so rude.

"I'm sorry," she said. A spot on her right forearm itched, and she scratched at it restlessly. Wherever the dragon blood had touched her skin was now red and puckered, tiny little blisters that seemed determined to drive her mad with their incessant tingling. _As if I needed anything more to rob me of sanity, _she thought. _I think the dragons murdering my people will accomplish that just fine._ "It's just that..."

"Isabelle." He reached out, gently slapped her fingers away from the blister before she removed another layer of skin with her persistent scratching. "Don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault."

"I know, Jack." She spun around to face the table, the tray of food on one end and the book on the other. Felt Jack's hands on her shoulders, his strong farmboy fingers digging into the tense muscles, gently kneading and releasing. Her whole body sagged as she leaned back into his reassuring solidness, felt his chest rise and fall through the thin material of her dress. "It's just that we haven't...there hasn't even been a formal burial yet. My father's been dead for almost a week and there hasn't been a ceremony. And..."

_And his head's still in the belly of that dragon._ Bile wanted to crawl up her throat and escape at the thought. _Nothing can cut through their hide. We'll never get it out. _

The hair was lifted off the nape of her neck as he sighed, each breath a cool touch on her fevered skin. "I'm sorry I didn't get there in time. You shouldn't have had to face that alone." He shifted, wanting to pull her closer but she stepped away. The hem of her cream-colored dress swirled as she spun to face him, its pattern of embroidered leaves stitched with green and gold thread appearing to flutter around her ankles. Her eyes were hard and unblinking when she spoke.

"I killed it, Jack."

"You practically threw yourself in its mouth!" he said, taking a tentative step toward her. "Elmont was furious! Still is!"

"I'm well aware of that! But I killed it!" She turned her back on him to face the table again, eyeing the books piled on it as though they were conspirators plotting a very nasty joke at her expense. "We can kill them! They're just...it's just...almost impossible.

She let her head hang down, let loose tendrils of hair curtain her face, and watched them rise and fall in time with her breath. Her nails were biting into the edge of the table hard enough to leave marks in the wood. _If we don't think of something fast there won't be a kingdom left to save._ What are we going to do? She wanted to hear her father's kind voice, feel his reassuring arms steady her while he guided them all through this nightmare the way he always had. _It's just like losing Mama, only worse. Because now they're both gone._

Sounds of something heavy being scraped over the floor behind her. A glance over her shoulder confirmed it was Jack, pushing chairs around.

"How's this for a bargain?" he asked, collapsing into one overstuffed chair and gesturing for her to take the other one. "You can tell me everything you've managed to find out about our scaly friends while we eat."

Placing the tray of food on her lap, she eyed the bread, fruit, and cheese dubiously, like there might be worms wiggling in them. "Are you sure? It's not good news."

"Didn't think it was." He reached over, picked up the knife, and began spreading cheese over a slice of bread. "But we need to know. And you need to eat."

"All right." She picked up an apple slice between her fingers. It was yellowed near the center and squishy in places but still edible. _A kingdom under siege can't afford to be picky, _she thought grimly.

"There isn't much that's known about dragons and what is known is mostly speculation. But I think I know why we're seeing so many of them all of a sudden." Her throat worked as she swallowed another bite of apple. "It's a breeding season."

"Breeding?" Jack was picking at a slice of bread, only making a pretense at eating. _Because he wants me to eat it all,_ Isabelle thought, and the realization made her feel an odd combination of love and guilt, so that she took a few seconds longer than necessary to select her own slice of bread and slather it with cheese. Stalling seemed a good idea, since she wished she didn't have to be the one telling him this.

"They breed only once every ten-thousand years or so." Jack quirked an eyebrow, and she shrugged. "The _Historia Regum_ Albion didn't give any precise dates, except to say that the last recorded breeding season was before King Erik's time. So its been a while."

"No doubt," he said dryly. "Go on."

"The little ones come up out of cracks in the Earth to feed on-"

A bite of breadcrust had apparently decided not to go down without a fight, as Jack began choking and pounding his chest. Isabelle put up her hands in a vain attempt to deflect the spray of wet crumbs flung in her general direction. When he finally got control of himself, he sent her a wan, shaky smile while brushing off his trouser legs."Little ones?" He sounded disbelieving, and she didn't blame him. "You mean the ones we've seen are just_ babies_?"

"I'm afraid so." She nodded. "I told you it was bad news." Her body suddenly felt heavy enough to sink into the feathery cushions of the chair and disappear. It was as though telling him these things had opened a valve in her cluttered mind and vital strength was leaking from every nerve, muscle, and bone she possessed, hollowing her out like a corn husk. _I need sleep. I can't tell if this is total despair or just plain exhaustion. _A glance out the window showed her a tranquil light blue sky, but a line of dark-bellied clouds could be seen marching on the horizon. Her shoulders slumped further into the chair. _It's probably both._

"All the great scholars suspect that in the olden days, there were things that could kill them. Natural predators." Pain flared in the space between her eyes, a sign of another brain-smashing headache coming on. She lifted a hand up, pressed her fingertips gently against the spot while she spoke. "But those creatures are all extinct now. There's nothing to keep them in check! They can go wherever they want, eat whatever they want without fall..."

"And let me guess," Jack sighed, "they like the taste of humans best of all?"

"Isn't that always how the story goes?" The tenderness between her eyes wasn't going away. Sighing, she let her hand drop back into her lap. Felt another blister on her forearm begin teasing the underside of her skin with soft little prickles of heat, resisted the urge to scratch with an effort. "They don't seem to have any weaknesses, Jack. None that are easy to exploit, anyway." She shuddered at the thought of how she'd killed the dragon on the steps of the abbey, at the memory of her hands slicked with plum-colored blood and the steel-scraping peal of its dying screeches in her ears. _I still can't believe I did that. I must've been mad._

_But perhaps a little madness is what we'll need to live through this._

That last thought stayed for just a few hot seconds in her head, then her fingers closed around the wooden handle of the cheeseknife, gripping it tight enough to feel each tiny splinter in the rough grain. She spent a moment contemplating the soft, white lump of cheese left on her tray, then lifted the knife and stabbed it clean through the center of the gooey mess as though it were a poisonous creature about to bite her. "This is useless, Jack. I'm not doing any good here!" She set the tray down, nearly spilling bits of uneaten food onto the unruly mountain of old grimoires, mystical texts, and treatises, then bolted up out of the chair and began to pace, her dress swishing in time with her quick strides.

Jack stiffened, his whole body brought from a relaxed slouch to alert wariness in seconds, helped along by Elmont's training and the scarily determined look on his fiance's face. "Elmont wants you to..."

"I know what Elmont wants!" Isabelle snapped. "He wants me to stay where it's safe!"

"So do I!"

"I know!" Her pacing slackened, eventually stopping altogether as she spun round to face him. Her eyes were bright, watery, and full of desperation. "I know you don't want anything to happen to me! But I need to be doing something that matters, Jack! I need to be out there with my people! How am I supposed to make the world a better place if I can't even save my own kingdom?" Tremors like tiny explosions inched their way up her calves, set her knees to quivering, and spread in merciless little jitters up to her shoulders. She hugged herself, trying to squeeze some order back into her chaos-wracked body.

Suddenly Jack's hands were gripping her elbows, and she let herself fall into his arms. Breathed him in, like a drowning woman struggling for a final gulp of air.

"I have an idea," she heard him say through the wool in her ears. His shirt would make a nice bed, if she could find a chance to sleep.

"What?" Even her voice sounded wrapped in layers of cloth.

"We'll go to the abbey. The monks know more about these things than anyone else."

_I thought of that too, Jack. And I didn't want to ask for their help unless it was absolutely necessary. _His fingers were twining through her hair, pulling gently at the tangles, The pain in her forehead receded just a bit, like thunderous breakers ebbing away from warm sand. Thoughts were coming clearer as the tender touch of Jack's fingers sent pleasant little jolts of electricity fizzing over her sensitized skin. Minutes passed and she was finally able to get control of her shaking body as the love of her Prince filled her with fresh determination.

Jack was about to say something else when her kiss stopped him. It lasted for one long, glorious moment before they broke apart.

"All right," she said, her eyes meeting his. "We'll go at once."

If Jack was startled by her sudden agreement, it was well-hidden by his blushing cheeks. she gently disentangled herself from his arms."Elmont should go too. He needs to hear whatever they have to say." She could go to the abbey, though she shuddered at the thought of climbing up the abbey steps. _They've washed the stones clean of blood by now, surely! Even if they haven't, we should go there. We need a solution for this, and the sooner the better!_

"It's settled, then." Jack nodded. "We'll go to the abbey. I'm sure the monks will know what to do."

{O}

"There's nothing we can do."

The abbot stood with his back to them, staring out the single small window of his cell. Isabelle fought down an impatient urge to stomp on his toes and make him face her.

She hadn't expected a monk's cell to be anything fancy, and so wasn't surprised by the bare stone floor and almost non-existent furnishings. Though it seemed that the monastery leader did have a bit more space to himself. A prayer rug lay at the foot of a small, rickety cot - or something that could vaguely be called a cot since it was basically two wooden boards with a threadbare blanket thrown over them. The squashed goosefeather pillow seemed almost an afterthought. One wall of the rectangular room was taken up by a writing desk - complete with inkpot and brushes - that looked as though it were hand-carved, while a small bookshelf crammed with volumes of what Isabelle assumed to be holy texts leaned uncertainly beside it, resembling a beacon tower overlooking a placid, wooden sea.

"What!?" Elmont had joined them, and he looked about as happy as a stallion whose master had decreed it time to become a gelding. Jack stood next to Isabelle, and she let her hand drift over to his so their fingers touched. _This is our last hope!_ "Surely you know some spell or-"

Turning away from the window, the abbot fixed Elmont with a hard stare. "We abandoned the dark magics long ago. Dabbling in them brought the wrath of Heaven down on us."

Sarcasm laced every word of the knight's reply with a venomous bite. "You mean the wrath of hundreds of hell-ugly giants?"

"Just so. They were God's Messengers."

Elmont's fists clenched, and though Isabelle knew his sense of honor wouldn't permit him to attack a holy man, it was clear the Guard Captain would've liked to let himself go a bit. "Man, we are dying here! There must be something...!"

She took a deep breath. _Time to try out a gentler touch. _"Father, please." Isabelle kept her voice soft and pleading as she addressed the abbot. With his back to the window, a few thin rays of the setting sun fell like a halo over his shoulders. He was surprisingly tall, clad in brown robes that dragged over the floor when he walked. Two tufts of reddish-brown hair stuck up like duck feathers at the sides of his otherwise shaven head, and his face was plump and boyish. _So young,_ Isabelle thought. _Why, he would even be handsome if he smiled more. _He wasn't smiling now. Far from it. Keeping her fingers twined with Jack's, she tried one more time. "Is there nothing you have that might save us? Anything at all? My father died on the steps of this abbey!" She hadn't planned to say it, the words just tumbled out before she could catch them. They broke through the stone wall of the abbot's expression, though. He looked away briefly, and when his blue eyes found hers again she inhaled sharply to see tears welling up in them. He lifted a hand, combed it through the sad remnants of his hair, and the loose sleeve of his robe flapped on his skinny arm, When he spoke, his somber voice broke a little. "I know, Princess."

The abbot's left hand dug around in a deep pocket of his robe, fished out a silver crucifix on a chain, and clutched it to his chest as he wiped at his eyes. Through the window, the sunlight finally died as the last golden ray was snuffed out behind a thick mass of purple and orange-streaked clouds. "You know I have seen the destruction those demons have wrought. Two of my brother monks were whisked away to their deaths just yesterday, and even more are missing, lost while trying to save innocents. It is horrible, princess! And yet..." He paused, choked off whatever he'd been about to say.

Isabelle took a step towards him. Jack followed her, looking worried as he laid a hand on her shoulder. "And yet what?"

Spots of tinkling silver light flashed on the dusty walls as the crucifix dangled in his fist. He swallowed a few times as his aloof facade crumpled and he became what he really was: a terribly frightened young man far, far out of his depth and sinking fast. "And yet I fear this horror may be preferable than calling upon their enemies to aid us!"

Elmont stepped up, the sword buckled at his hip jangling loudly. "What enemies?"

The abbot's breath left him in a long sigh. Brown cloth rippled like cognac as he slipped the crucifix back in his pocket, extinguishing its pearl-white sparkle. Then he flowed across the room to the bookshelf. "You have already met them." His brows furrowed as he scanned the small selection of ancient texts, thin lips moving as if in whispered prayer, then he reached in and withdrew a small book that looked old enough to crumble apart at the slightest touch. Isabelle felt her heart run a few beats faster as what he said began to sink in. _You've already met them? Does that mean what I think it means?_

He crossed the room to her, offered the book with both hands. She took it gingerly. then almost dropped it when she realized it was bound in dried animal skin. "This book is the last relic that was saved from King Erik's reign. We have...kept it in secret. To study."

"Meaning you were supposed to have destroyed it," Jack said, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. "What is it? A spellbook?"

"No. A journal."

"A journal?" Isabelle's fingertips wanted to skitter away from the organic feel of the book's cover, a soft, squishy texture like dead ratskin but thicker. She laid it down on the polished wood surface of the writing desk and opened it to a random page. The book exhaled powdery dust right in Isabelle's face, making her raise a hand up to stifle a cough. When the coughing subsided, she studied the yellowing pages with narrowed eyes, while Jack and Elmont peered over her shoulders like curious schoolboys. Rows of strange, angular writing scrawled over the parchment like needlework in a delicate hand. Some symbols vaguely resembled animals, while others were simply lines intersecting at odd points like tree branches snuggling together. Isabelle's eyes watered trying to decipher it.

"I can't read it."

"No, you can't." The abbot came up to stand beside her, placing his palms flat upon the desk. "No one on Earth can read this. It's written in Gantish, the alphabet of the Fierce Ones."

"You mean the giants?" Elmont sounded incredulous. "Those brutes have their own language?"

Isabelle turned another page, the old parchment crinkling like moth wings. "Who wrote it? This couldn't have been made by a giant!"

"It wasn't. This was the journal of a human woman who walked among the giants for many years. She lived in their houses, learned their speech, even ate their food."

Isabelle shivered at the idea of a human eating what passed for food among Gantua's citizens. Judging by the sudden pallor of his skin, Elmont felt likewise. "How did she manage that? They're about as welcoming and friendly as an arrow in your throat!"

The abbot shrugged. "Their chieftain at that time granted her protection." Then his posture straightened as he fell back into the regal manner of a mystic about to give a stubborn pupil a lecture. "Do not judge them too harshly, Princess. They act according to their nature. As do we all." Isabelle caught a glimpse of Jack, who she could've sworn rolled his eyes in a most adorable _You've got to be joking me_ look.

_I completely agree, darling,_ she thought, pursing her lips into a thin line. She straightened up, turning to skewer the abbot with a most unladylike glare. Impatience edged her voice when she spoke, making it a brittle shard of jagged glass. "They can act according to their nature all they like, as long as they don't threaten my family or my kingdom." _This doesn't even sound like me,_ she thought, as the abbot responded to her piercing stare with a slight, almost imperceptible flinch. Who am I turning into? "Your relic is very fascinating, but how will this book help us, sir?"

"Here." The abbot's hands trembled as he carefully turned several brittle pages, then stopped. Jack groaned. Elmont very discreetly muffled a curse with his hand, while Isabelle simply stared at the exquisitely detailed illustration in the book, trying to piece it together.

It looked as though the artist had relied on plant dyes instead of simple ink. The vividness of the colors was impressive, especially considering the book's antiquity. There was no mistaking the green, black, twisted figure of the young dragon emerging from its egg, the long, slender upper torso decanting itself from the broken shell as the reptile's head swayed on its S-shaped neck. For an instant, the sensation of little hairy feet running beneath the blistered skin of her forearms was overwhelming, then she tore her eyes away from the caricature of the dragon, fastening them instead on the beings depicted attacking it.

Giants. Armored and snarling, carrying axes, swords, and other less recognizable implements of carnage. They seemed to be attacking the newborn dragon with savage joy. The abbot turned the page to another drawing, this one of a much bigger dragon with its ribbed wings spread. A stream of marigold-orange flame lashed out of its toothy mouth at the giants surrounding it, hacking at its legs and flailing barbed tail. Spots of purplish dye roughly the shade of dragon's blood dotted the image, a single long spray of it issued at the point where a giant's axe made contact with the dragon's throat.

"Well, what does this mean?" said Elmont. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Are we supposed to assume that giants and dragons are mortal enemies just from some fancy drawings in an old journal?"

"It's all we have." Isabelle stared intently as she traced the outlines of the giants with her eyes. A few of them looked familiar, and she could swear that one had a blob of dark color on its shoulder that resembled a second head. Her hands gripped the edge of the table like a weapon. Loose strands of hair fell into her eyes as she asked the abbot without looking up, "You say this woman lived with the giants? Was she an ally of theirs?"

"She was a noblewoman in the court of King Erik. That's all we know."

Isabelle let her eyes close. From somewhere in the monastery she could hear monks chanting, their monotonous voices rose and fell in eerie waves. A breath of smoky incense drifted from somewhere. She inhaled deeply, hoping to absorb whatever prayers were mixed in with the scent. "We can't," she finally said. "We can't bring them here. Even if they can kill dragons, we don't have any of the magic beans." She stopped, noticing the twin looks of guilt on the faces of Jack and Elmont. "Do we?"

'We...ah...stumbled over some pods growing wild in the forest several days ago." The knight stared down at his shoes, and Isabelle felt as though the world she knew had just shattered and left her staring into broken, twisted reflections of the people she knew. Because she was used to that look of utter repentance on her own face, not his_._ "We would've told you but...given current events..."

"It's fine, Elmont." She waved a hand at him dismissively. _And you wouldn't have told me a thing. You would've told my father. _"If we plant one, will it sprout?"

"Yes, but..."

"Do it."

Elmont looked as though a battering ram just thumped his guts, while Jack seemed unfazed, but grim. Isabelle held her head high, her shoulders straight. A breeze from the open window teased her hair like a lover, picking up long strands and dropping them. The incense smell had faded, washed out by the nose-tingling green scent of approaching rain. An unintelligible mumbling started as the abbot's lips moved in prayer, and suddenly Isabelle knew what this change in her meant, understood what she was becoming.

"What?" Elmont sounded hoarse. "With all due respect, Princess, are you mad?"

"Plant the beanstalk!" she snapped. "We have King Erik's Crown. If we command them to fight for us, they can't refuse. And if they've fought with dragons before, it's all the better!" She faced Jack, her fiance, and felt a tiny seam split in her heart at the resigned look on his face. He knew what she was about to ask, so she was grateful when he spared her from doing so.

"I'll wear it," he said. "I'm the King."

This by no means comforted the abbot, who eyed the prayer rug like he thought he might need it soon. "The Crown is only as strong as the Will of whoever wears it. If your Will falters, even for a moment..."

"I can do it," he said, "But Isabelle, what if..?"

"If our two-headed friend shows up, I'll deal with him," she said, and mentally congratulated herself for sounding braver than she felt. _A good leader never lets their fear prevent them from doing what has to be done. _Her father taught her that. And she would need every one of his lessons now.

_Because, God help me, I'm becoming a Queen._

"I've got a bad feeling about this," muttered Elmont, and everyone - even Isabelle - agreed with him.

{O}

Thunderheads churned like sour milk over their heads as the approaching storm gathered strength in the evening gloom. They'd ridden out as far from Cloister as they dared, stopping near the splintered ruin that used to be the home of Jack's Uncle. Getting across the burned field surrounding it was harrowing business, every other moment their nervous eyes would dart skyward hoping not to see shadowy wings sloughing through the murk above them. Isabelle wore her golden plate armor, along with her father's sword neatly fastened at her waist. Her hair was loose, with nothing preventing sharp gusts of wind from playing through it as they rode, blowing it out behind her like an almond stream.

Elmont was quiet the whole way, and Jack didn't blame him. _Could've lived my whole life without ever seeing another giant again_. _But they may be our only hope of saving the kingdom. _

"I think this is far enough," said Isabelle, as she brought her white mare to a halt. Tall grass waved around its hooves as she dismounted. Patches of blackened earth still marred the beauty of the countryside, giving it the appearance of a black and green quilt pieced together with torches.

"Here, my lady. Let me help." Anastasa sprang off the back of her spotted pony with surprising nimbleness and rushed over to take the arm of her mistress. The corner of Jack's mouth twitched at the look of resigned acquiescence on his fiancee's face. He'd heard only part of the blazing argument between the two about Ana's right to come along; he'd been preoccupied at the time with struggling into his riding boots, donning the Crown of Erik, and trying to make himself as King-like as possible. The lady in waiting absolutely refused to be separated from Isabelle again, going so far as to declare she would follow them from a distance if she wasn't allowed to ride with them. The argument had ended with Isabelle throwing her hands in the air and muttering something like "It's your funeral, Ana," though Jack wasn't sure of her exact words, what with Elmont barking instructions at him. "Tuck in your shirt, Jack! Keep your sleeves rolled up! Stand tall as you can and don't flinch, no matter what happens. Remember, they're giants! Notoriously hard to impress, that lot!"

As if he didn't know that.

'Here." Elmont unclipped a leather drawstring pouch from his belt and handed it over. "Best get this done before full dark." The bag weighed next to nothing in Jack's palm, yet what was inside was about to change their world, for good or ill. His fingers worked at the strings, pulling them apart until the pouch opened wide enough to allow the thing within to drop into his open hand.

Reflex almost made Jack toss it away. The tiny black seed quivered in his palm like an excited bee, sending forth waves of malignant anticipation as he knelt down to scoop up a handful of damp earth. He hesitated, stealing a glance up into the grim face of Elmont who crouched tensely beside him. After this, there was no going back, and they both knew it. _What choice do we have?_ Jack's eyes must've communicated something of his thoughts to his friend, because the knight simply shrugged his leatherclad shoulders and nodded. Wind blew spatters of rain against his cheeks as the young King dropped the little seed of darkness into the shallow hole. "Right, then. Now I suggest we RUN, JACK!"

They'd barely sprinted more than ten feet before the stalk erupted out of the ground behind them. An onslaught of rushing air almost threw them to the ground as leaves the size of wagon wheels unfurled, their delicate veins throbbing as the enchanted beanstalk sucked up water and other, less definable energies to fuel its unnatural growth. A hand clamped down on Jack's arm, dragging him to his feet just as a snarl of new vines threaded through each other and soon a thick tangle of leaves and fleshy green tendrils was spiraling up, up, up into the sky, finally disappearing into the soupy thick mass of darkening clouds.

"What do we do now?" Ana whispered. She sounded breathless, and her green eyes were round as saucers.

I promised Brahmwell I would protect this kingdom. No matter what, Jack thought. He watched the beanstalk continue to unfold. Sensed Isabelle beside him, and despite the brave front she showed the world, it only took a glance at her pale face to know she was as afraid as he was of what they'd just done.

"We wait," said Elmont

{O}

Fallon couldn't believe it.

Either he was seeing things, or a beanstalk had just risen up through the thousand layers of clouds and made itself nice and comfortable at the edge of the cliff he currently stood upon, as merrily as you please.

"You see it too, don't you?" he asked his second head. The little creature spluttered as his mouth stretched, excitedly trying to form words while bobbing on his shoulder like an ugly flower.

"Yea! Yea! Yea! YEA!"

"Hmm." Maybe they were both hallucinating. After all, they'd only come to this exact same cliff to brood every single day since their defeat. But his nostrils flared when the tangy scent of rich green foliage reached him, exploding in a rush onto the air as the last leaf buds swelled and broke into vibrant, emerald life. Mist drifted in lazy circles around the vines, fluffy and serene as smoke rings from a pipe.

Smells never lied.

The tension in the air was thickening, growing damp with the promise of rain as clouds piled on top of each other. Rising wind buffeted the freshly sprouted stalk, making it sway so that its green tendrils seemed to writhe with a mind of their own. At this height, the wind could very quickly turn into a maelstrom, a force devastating to humans but a mere nuisance to someone his size. He would sometimes stand in the center of them and hurl rocks into the air, hoping they'd crash back down onto some unsuspecting human village.

Below him, a jagged bolt of lightning streaked from one cloud to the belly of another, staining the twilight sky vivid white for a split second before disappearing.

Perfect.

He roared.

"FEE! FYE! FOE! FUMM!"

His roar echoed throughout Gantua, bouncing off mountains and bending young trees to the ground. Birds rose up in clouds of chatter and frantic wingbeats. Herds of deer and sheep bounded for cover beneath shaking old oaks. Even bears nestled snug in their dens sniffed the air with apprehension. Humans believed the names of his brothers was a chant of some kind, and in a way they were right. Because every bird or beast living in Gantua knew hearing those names shouted into the wind meant battle and strife would soon follow.

They came. One by one each of his brothers stepped through the mist curtain to stand beside him at the cliff's edge. Fee, with his lanky dark hair obscuring half of his wrinkled face. Fye, stony-faced and massive as a mountain on two legs. Foe, covering a yawn with one hand while gripping a sword in the other. Even Fumm, his halo of black curly hair framing his surly expression, his upper lip curled with just the barest hint of teeth showing. They all came, stopping at the cliff's edge to stare in wonder and excitement.

"Blimey!"

"Where'd that come from?"

Fallon grunted as he tested the heft of his flail. He flicked it once, nodded in satisfaction as the iron ball tore through misty air in a beautiful arc of destruction. Wind shrieked around them as he felt a tug at his mind. He growled, recognizing the soulless voice of the Crown of Erik in his head, whispering to him, taunting him.

Compelling him.

Fee eyed the swaying beanstalk dubiously. "What do we do?"

"Onwards and downwards, brothers." Fallon grinned, a toothy predator's smile. His small head licked its lips. Huge leaves crumpled under his touch as he scrambled onto the stalk, leapt down, and neatly caught hold of a trembling vine. "Let's go see what the little people want."

**Author's Note: **HERE COMES THE THUNDER!


	6. Chapter 5: Down

**Title: **Seed of Darkness

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack is forced to use the Crown of Erik to call upon some unlikely allies.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own. Please don't sue.

**Chapter Six: Down**

They didn't have to wait long.

The first sign that something was happening was when the beanstalk started shaking. There was the papery rustle of giant leaves as stone-sized bits of plantflesh shook free of the main stalk, tumbling down and smacking into the earth like green hail, then Isabelle cried out as a whole leaf fluttered down. Its round edges curled as the wind caught it before it hit the ground, carrying it away like a jade-colored cloud..

"Be ready!" Elmont had to shout to be heard above the windroar. More leaves shook loose and were swirled about like tea in a cup across the field. "They're coming down!"

Isabelle nearly fell backwards from craning her neck to see. The top of the stalk disappeared above a nexus of swollen gray clouds that were spinning in a tight funnel, like moldy cream stirred by a god's spoon. Lightning flickered in sharp little bursts of arctic white. Her uneasy stomach turned over on itself as she remembered what it had been like to be carried up there, trapped and all alone. She wasn't sure what her face looked like at the moment, but it felt as though every drop of blood in her cheeks was being sucked away by hungry leeches,

leaving her cold as an iced marble sculpture. Then Jack was behind her, gripping her shoulders tightly without taking his eyes off the quivering beanstalk. Swallowing, she raised an unsteady hand, pushing strands of windblown hair out of her face while glancing up once more at the twisted growth forming a bridge between Earth and Sky.

Her heart picked up its already frantic beat when she saw a flash of bright steel armor, then heard a flurry of snapping, bending, and tearing as long, slim arms darted among the foliage like wriggling spider legs. For creatures so big, they were incredibly quick climbers; finding handholds and footholds that supported their weight long enough for then to spring off onto the vines below, moving steadily closer to the ground. Her vision was partially blocked by the snakehair tangle of leafy creepers, but she could've sworn one giant actually _let go _of the stalk, allowing his huge bulk to plummet in freefall for a few breathless seconds before catching onto a fresh stem.

The wry thought came to her on a wave of semi-hysteria: _Show off._

She twisted her head around, trying to catch sight of Anastasa. Found her clinging to Elmont's arm, her mouth opening in a half-scream as she pointed up at the descending giants. Her rose-colored dress rippled on her body like spilled wine as the wind teased it. Isabelle felt a nasty certainty that any giant looking at her would see a tasty little snack. _Well, you wanted to come, Ana, _she thought. _If we all die, at least you'll leave the world with your curiosity satisfied. _

Jack was stiff and still as he released her shoulders. He moved to stand beside her, not speaking but Isabelle read grim resolve in his tightly clenched jaw and rigid spine. The Crown was becoming a glowing ribbon of fire on his head, its power increasing as the sorcery-forged metal woke to fulfill its intended purpose. A gust of wind blew droplets of cold rain in their faces, the grass around them flattened under the storm.

Her fingers brushed Jack's, and they only had a single brief moment to clasp hands before the giant's let go of the beanstalk to drop the rest of the way. The impact of their giant feet shook the ground like earthbound thunder. Then there came a sudden calm as the shrieking wind dwindled, settling itself into a tame breeze that gently lifted strands of her rain-damp hair. Overhead, clouds began to separate and drift apart, letting down a weak, filtered light that shone off her plate armor like subdued amber.

As one, the giants straightened from their crouches. She counted five of them.

_Fee, Fye, Foe, Fum, and..._

Her heart sank like gold bricks in water. _Oh no._

With deliberate slowness, Fallon lifted his enormous bulk off the ground, straightening his knees until he towered over them all. He looked just like Isabelle remembered him, encased in gray armor that hung down in pleats around his legs. Spikes of bone adorned his left shoulder, gleaming ivory-white as a skull stripped of flesh, while the smaller head grew from its stumpy neck out of his right side. He looked healed from the wounds he'd suffered when the beanstalk had nearly burst out of him, and Isabelle noticed with dismay that his flail was coiled in a loop buckled to his waist. The other giants were similarly armored, and all of them bore the look of bottled destruction just waiting to be set loose.

Isabelle made a small movement when Fallon stepped forward, then mentally slapped herself. _Show no fear, you fool! He'll walk all over you if you do!_ To her left, Jack had made himself as tall as possible, the Crown settled on his windblown hair helped add a little authority to his otherwise-harmless demeanor.

She fervently hoped they hadn't just literally made the biggest mistake of their lives.

Fallon stopped several feet away from them and Isabelle suppressed a shudder as his narrowed eyes latched firmly on her. When he spoke, his voice was full of false cheer, his accent thick and melodious."Your Highness, it's soooo good to see you again!" Isabelle felt like a mouse as she craned her neck to see him, and grimaced in disgust as a strand of spittle leaked from one corner of the small head's mouth. Fallon - or the head she thought of as Fallon - inhaled deeply and grinned. "You smell wonderful, as always."

_I suppose that's meant to be a compliment, _she thought. A little of her courage was returning. Enough for her to shout up to him."Fallon!" She placed a hand on the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist for effect. "What are you doing here?"

He regarded her stonily, his eyes narrowing to dark slits while his second head burbled a small, confused noise. "You invited us here."

"I didn't!" _At least I didn't expect to see you restored to your old, ferocious self so quickly,_ she silently amended.

"Then I suppose the beanstalk planted itself, then?" Now he sounded irritated, and Isabelle's heart leapt like a panicked rabbit when he moved a step closer. But instead of approaching them directly, he veered off to one side. Then he moved behind them, and it took every ounce of courage she had left to resist turning like a top to keep him in view. He continued to prowl, circling them like a hungry wolf while the other giants simply watched. It was the same tactic he'd used to interrogate her when she'd been his prisoner in the cage. It was meant to unnerve her, and, damn him, it was working. Sweat began to appear in wet little drops at her hairline, and it was a physical effort to keep from drawing her sword.

She jumped when Jack's hand closed tightly around her upper arm, then shoved her behind him. He shielded her with his body as he addressed the giant. Fallon stopped circling them to glare down at Jack. The upper row of his teeth showed in a fierce snarl.

"As your new King, my first command is for you to leave the princess alone, you freak!"

Isabelle couldn't help clapping her hands over her ears when Fallon roared. "YOU ARE NO KING, BOY!" His foot stomped the ground hard enough to raise a geyser of mud while their horses, which they'd tethered to a stand of nearby oaks, bucked and shrieked in terror. Jack didn't fall, but Isabelle could tell from his razor-straight spine and high chin that he was engaged in an epic internal battle. The Crown flared into incandescent golden life.

Isabelle held her breath, every muscle in her tense and quivering. _Fallon's strong-willed enough to fight it. Even Roderick had trouble breaking him. If we don't get him under control fast, there'll be hell to pay._

"You will not harm the princess, or anyone else." Jack's voice was slow, yet filled with solemn power. "You were called here to help us."

"Help you?" Fallon snorted. "Show me a true King first, then we'll talk!" Isabelle felt clammy-cold as those piercing black eyes sought her out again. Knowing it was useless to hide, she stepped out from behind Jack. Fallon bent down, stretched a clawed hand out toward her, his fingers grasping at air like a man trying to snatch up a misbehaving puppy, but he snarled viciously when something held him back. She snapped a glance over at Jack, who looked pale and strained.

Fallon scowled down at them as he straightened up.

"Take off the Crown, Jack, then show me how sharp your teeth are."

"That's not an option, I'm afraid." Elmont's clear voice rang like steel across the field. Isabelle heaved a relieved sigh as he came trudging up, towing a wide-eyed, trembling Anastasa by one hand. The pretty rose dress Ana wore was now covered in mud and grass stains. _The poor girl probably collapsed during Fallon's outburst, _Isabelle thought, _and I don't blame her one bit._ Yet Elmont appeared unruffled as his eyes flicked from Fallon, to the four other giants assembled behind him, then back to Fallon, whose small head returned his cool stare with a small burp. "We brought you all here because we have some dragons that need slaying and, believe me, we don't like having to ask for your help any more than you seem to want to give it!"

"Dragons?" For the first time, Fallon sounded interested. The eyes of his small head grew round as it gave a little yip of excitement. Closing his eyes, the giant inhaled deeply, every part of him still, concentrating. "Yesssss," he drawled, sounding like a wolf dreaming of the chase, followed by the inevitable kill. "I can smell them, beyond the stink of your human kingdom. They seek to hide their vile scent, the crafty little snakes." His four companions also grew restless, wrinkling their noses in quick little sniffs. Isabelle noticed Fumm watching her, and tried unsuccessfully to read any hint of emotion on the black-haired giant's face.

Then Fallon seemed to remember them. "I should let the snakes have their way with you little grasshoppers."

"You won't." Willing her knees not to betray her, Isabelle stepped forward. She reached into a leather pouch clipped to her waist and withdrew the book they'd retrieved from the monastery, flipping it open. She held it up, letting him see the illustrations of giants and dragons in pitched battles. "You can't. We know you've fought them before."

Upon seeing the book, he actually hissed. One hand dropped to the coiled flail at his hip, and Isabelle backed rapidly away with her pounding heart lodged firmly in her throat. His fingers jerked in tiny, arthritic little spasms but as much as he tried, he couldn't make them close around his weapon. His expression went slack, and his heavy breathing seemed to fill the world. When he spoke again, the words came out as strangled growls. "Where did you maggots get that wretched thing?"

Isabelle's thoughts whirled like snowflakes in her head as she retreated. _Well,_ _we know for certain the book came from Gantua now._ She couldn't help feeling a pinch of smug satisfaction that she'd managed to rattle Fallon's nerves for once. _That's for locking me in that cage, you monster._ She slipped the book back into its pouch, felt its weight sway against her hip. The beanstalk whispered to itself as it settled, green things scraping lightly against each other.

"Enough!" Once again, Jack placed himself in front of her - a symbolic gesture more than anything, since it did nothing to hide her from the giants who looked down on them all. "You will help us," he said. It wasn't a request. It was a Command, and its power became manifest when Fye, then Fee, then Foe, and finally Fumm all dropped to their knees. "You will protect us."

"No." Fallon's voice was a weak whisper now. His whole body trembled, ropy muscles in his arms and legs straining against the compulsion to kneel. To _obey._ "No."

"Please." Isabelle hadn't meant to say it. Had said it so softly she wasn't sure Fallon had even heard. There was just something about the sight of the proud giant warrior being made into a slave that unsettled her stomach and made her heart squirm beneath a layer of heavy guilt. She'd felt nothing but relief when Roderick showed up with the Crown and put the monster in his place - Fallon had just threatened to eat her, after all, and she'd had no idea Roderick was going to turn around and betray them only a few short seconds later. So she hadn't expected to feel anything other than comforted to see it happening again, allowed to breathe easier once the soulless beast was rendered incapable of ripping them to pieces. _This is ridiculous,_ she thought as she watched a tremor shake his massive body. _I shouldn't feel bad about humbling him a little. _

But she did.

'Please," she whispered again. Her skin was damp with sweat beneath the plate armor, and the nasty thought that maybe Fallon could smell it didn't help. A quick shift of her attention showed her the giants behind him with their bellies pressed to the ground, completely submissive. Fumm's eyes were still latched firmly onto them and a chill stroked light, icy claws down Isabelle's spine when she realized he wasn't staring at her, but at Ana, who cowered beside Elmont. At least the knight seemed more or less composed, watching the mental struggle between boy and giant with alert interest.

Her eyes flicked back to Fallon. The small head seemed limp and unresponsive as a broken flagpole, but his other half was still fighting. Deep furrows made dark lines in his brow, while his black eyes squeezed themselves tightly shut. She shifted from foot to foot, unsure if her discomfort was from the tight armor rubbing against her shoulders or from the terror of what might happen if Fallon wouldn't submit._ Please don't make us fight you. _

With a great sigh, the two-headed leader of the giant race crumpled like a broken marionette, going down to both knees with a thump that shook the ground. All the metal on him clanked as he dropped to all fours. His palms pressed flat into the earth, his forearms quivered from the effort it took to hold himself up. Isabelle held her breath as she glanced at Jack, who stared unblinkingly at the monster. A gust of wind mouthed at the loose sleeves of his jacket, pushing them back far enough that Isabelle noticed his fists were clenched so hard the tendons on the pale underside of his wrists stood out like harp strings. From its seat on Jack's head, the Crown gave forth another bright gold pulse of liquid light, and Fallon leveled a burning, hateful glare at the boy-king that filled Isabelle's blood with ice, baring every one of his sharp, bloodstained teeth in a defiant snarl. "I'll suck the marrow from your bones for this, you little whelp!" Then he lowered himself, flattening his whole body into the muddy field.

Jack slumped forward. Isabelle grabbed his sagging shoulders. Elmont and Ana rushed to help, and all of them shared identical expressions of relief, wonder, and disbelief.

They'd just tamed a giant.

{O}

The ride back to Cloister was almost unbearable. The five giants trudged at a respectful distance behind them, and Jack had to fight down the temptation to glance over his shoulder after every heavy footfall. He knew it must've been even worse for Isabelle, considering the two-headed freak was back and tormenting her already. Every time he glanced in his fiance's direction her wide, luminous eyes remained fixed at some distant point on the horizon while she gripped Victoria's reins like a shipwrecked sailor holding onto a drifting plank. Jack himself was so tired he could've fallen asleep in the bottom-bouncing saddle of his own horse, if it weren't for the breakneck pace the white stallion was going at. All the horses, even Elmont's disciplined charger, were unhappy with the latest developments. Their breath steamed in the cold air as the terrified animals strained muscle and sinew to the breaking point, eating up the distance between beanstalk and Cloister with no encouragement needed.

There's nothing like a troop of giants behind you for an incentive to run.

Daylight had long since faded, leaving them racing through a darkened countryside. They formed a tight line, with him and Elmont automatically taking flanking positions around Isabelle in case the need arose to defend her. The clouds thinned out enough to let a few ghost-pale needles of moonlight through, shafts of light that were gone almost as soon as they appeared. The giants seemed to have no trouble finding their way in the semi-darkness, whereas Jack had to squint before he could make out the moon-silvered outlines of trees and rocks in their path. And once or twice he thought his ears caught the whoosh of great leathery wings flapping in the night.

_Giants behind us and dragons above us. Wonderful._

"Ho, Jack! We're almost there!" called out Elmont, who had Isabelle's lady-in-waiting on his black horse. Ana's pony had broken loose from the tree it'd been tied to, and was probably halfway to the mountains by now. The poor maid herself sagged against the knight's chest, while his left arm encircled her waist to keep her from sliding off the saddle. Tendrils of her long, red-gold hair were brushing close to Elmont's nose. Jack could see Ana's lips moving, but her soft voice didn't carry over the night wind so he could only guess at what sort of state she was in; if seeing giants for the first time had left her sensible or an incoherent wreck. From the exasperated frown on Elmont's face, he was betting on the latter. If the gallant knight's hands were free, Jack was certain they'd be slapped over his ears.

_I'm not doing so wild either at the moment. That little game with Fallon took everything I had, and I'm still not sure he's completely on our side._ _Who am I kidding?_ _Of course he's not! _He could feel the weight of the Crown on his head, a warm circlet of gold, rubies. and esoteric symbols bound by dark magic to the wild heart of a giant. He'd always thought wearing a magic crown would make you feel special. Empowered.

Instead, it felt painful. Like rows of curved teeth gnawing at his skull, waiting for the perfect moment to bite down into his brain. _How could anything so pure and good hurt so much?_

_It was forged with dark sorcery,_ a tiny, cringing voice whispered from a shadowy corner in his mind. _Maybe it isn't good._

Jack shoved that less-than-comforting thought aside as he saw the gates of Cloister approaching. Stripes of moonlight shone in phosphorescent waves on the rippling surface of the moat while the dark path of the drawbridge hung suspended over it. Only at night did the moat regain some of its former beauty. By day it was a murky, poisoned brew of dead fish and rotting vegetation; the result of being filled with oil and set alight in a desperate gamble to keep Fallon's army from swimming across. Jack wrinkled his nose as a draught of its wet garbage stink reached him, and it wasn't long before he heard growled complaints among their troop of tame giants. _Hey, it was pretty decent here before you guys showed up, _he thought. Burning the moat had been a necessary move - and a successful one, Jack grinned, thinking of a certain two-headed bully who'd tried chasing him across only to end up getting dunked headfirst into a flaming bath - but they all regretted having to ruin such a beautiful piece of nature to save themselves.

_We do what we have to do_. The words of King Brahmwell cut through his recriminations like a knife sliding through a chink in plate armor. _To keep our people safe._ Hearing Brahmwell in his mind comforted him, yet left him sad and cold thinking he would never hear the kind old king's voice anywhere else ever again.

A pair of armored guards in red capes leaned upon iron lances at the mouth of the drawbridge. They crossed their lances as the riders approached, the clash of metal upon metal echoed in the quiet night.

"Halt! Who goes th-?"

Jack, Isabelle, and Elmont reined in their struggling, panting horses a split second before the first giant foot stepped into clear view beneath the moon, hairy toes wiggling. Fee lumbered as close as he could get without stepping on anyone, making Jack curse soundly under his breath when the ground tremors from the giant's massive footsteps nearly spooked his horse into panicked flight again. The sight of the armored, hulking Gantuan caused both guards faces to go pale as cream cheese. Their crossed lances rattled like broken weathervanes in their shaking hands. With one hand rubbing his stomach, Fee grinned broadly down at them, moonlight glinting off the sharp edges of his chipped teeth.

"Hello, juicy little men. I'm Fee. What're your names?'

A lance clattered to the ground as the first guard's eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted dead away. The second man barely managed to hold onto his weapon as he pointed a trembling finger upwards, stammering.

"G-G-G-G-G"

"Giants. Yes, we know," said Elmont. The knight began to dismount, his leather armor creaking as he swung down from the saddle. His quick strides carried him to the stricken man in moments. He reached out, patting the guard's shoulder reassuringly. "They're with us."

"With...us?" The words came freighted with dumbfounded, uncomprehending surprise. The shaking guard looked from Elmont, to the giants, then back to Elmont, staring at the Captain as if he had millipedes coming out of his eye sockets.

"Yes. With us." A trace of irritation colored the knight's voice. Studded leather made a small sound as he laid a hand upon his swordbelt. He jerked his head down at the fainted man, who lay curled up underneath his red cape like a doomed lobster about to be boiled. "Why don't you wake him up, then the both of you escort the Princess and her maid back to the palace? Then inform the other Guardians that our new allies have arrived. I'd like to avoid a mass panic before it starts." The knight stepped back, sending a pointed look at Jack clearly saying:_ I told you this was a bad idea!_ Hefting his lance in one steel-gauntleted hand, the wide-eyed guard managed a tight nod and, reaching down, pulled back the shifting red fabric to reveal the shaking, blubbering form beneath. One moment and a few muttered curses later the fallen man was back on his feet, clutching his own lance in both sweating hands, and trying to recover a little dignity by staunchly ignoring the giants while helping Ana onto Isabelle's horse, seating her behind the princess. Jack began to tap a finger against the saddle's leather surface, casting anxious sidelong glances up at Fallon, who seemed to be paying far too much attention to the graceful, delicate movements of his fiancee as she guided her white horse over the drawbridge. The guards flanking her didn't look back, their identically-bruised egos demanding one final display of courage in front of their commanding officer before finding time to steady their nerves with a healthy drink.

Once they were all safely across Jack heaved a great, bone-deep sigh of relief.

"Well," said Elmont, who sidled up close to him, "now what?"

Jack felt awkward, as he was still seated upon his horse and had to look down on the man he considered his mentor. "I don't like letting them into Cloister," he said, looking askance at the giants looming in a tight row at the edge of the moat. They shuffled their big feet unhappily

"Agreed." Elmont nodded. "Perhaps they should stay outside."

A low growl drifted down to them as Fallon shifted his weight a fraction of an inch forward. Jack tensed, his horse snorted and tried to canter away, and the Crown flashed gold as it responded to the angry giant. "How are we supposed to protect your city if we're kept out of it, boy?" The small head made an indignant squawk, its eyes bulging like a frogs, the puckered line of its mouth set in a petulant frown.

Elmont sighed. "As much as I hate to say it, they have a point." He paused, looking out toward the slumbering village. Jack followed his gaze. A few undamaged houses sat like hermits among the burned-out husks of less fortunate buildings. Their windows were either shuttered or boarded up, and nothing - not even a solitary purse snatcher - moved in the streets. Eerie silence hung over everything like a winding sheet over a corpse. The Guard Captain ran a hand through his spiky brown hair. "Won't do us much good if the dragons start carrying people off while our backup's locked outside." He sounded disappointed.

"All right, then" Squaring his shoulders, Jack glared up at Fallon, who glared right back with equal amounts of hostility and resentment. The space between them sizzled. _I can't believe I'm saying this,_ Jack thought. And then he said the five little words that would change his life forever. "You all can come in."

If Jack could've laughed at that moment, he might've laughed at the look on the giant's faces. Fee actually giggled. Foe grinned and pumped a fist in the air. Fye's stiff eyebrows climbed almost to the top of his ridged forehead. Fumm's upper lip curled in what could've been a snarl or a smirk.

And Fallon spread his arms wide in a magnanimous gesture, his white teeth showing in a broad, delighted smile. His dark eyes were alight with cruel glee as his small head let out a happy little squeal. "We accept your invitation, mighty king!" Scorn dripped off the last word like blood from a murderer's knife, and Jack felt like falling off his horse as a ball of molten-hot nausea started rocking and rolling inside him. _What have I done?_

Jack looked over at his friend and mentor. For a few seconds, Elmont looked exactly like Jack felt: sick and uncertain. Then he seemed to gather himself, straightening his back and holding his chin up high, his eyes burning blue and clear. Resolved. "Are you all able to cross the drawbridge?" he asked.

"We can," Fallon said.

"Then come across," said Elmont, and Jack would almost swear he heard the man's teeth grind together. _This must be torture for him. Knowing what happened to Crawe, and having no choice but to let those monsters into the kingdom._ He wanted to say something, make some speech of consolation and support, but knew deep down there was nothing he could say to make this better. So he simply sat on his white stallion and watched Elmont march back to his own sweating, irritated horse, swing his legs into the stirrups, seize the reins, and take charge of his mount with the same skill and finesse he used to lead an army. Strands from the horse's wild black mane blew about like inky ribbons in the pre-dawn wind, tickling Elmont's face. _He looks more like a hero than ever,_ Jack thought, and then grimaced as the terrible knife-sharp teeth of the Crown dug painfully into his mind again. He brought a hand to his aching forehead, almost touched the deceptively soft edge of the golden band, then stopped, somehow certain that Fallon was eyeing him with a calculating, predatory stare, searching for signs of weakness. _Keep it together, Jack. _He mentally kicked himself. Hard. _Everyone's counting on you._

He breathed deep, then issued a command meant to remind them all who was in charge. "Watch your step. If I hear of any people being flattened by..."

"Oh, we'll be careful," Fee snickered, then jabbed an elbow into Fye's ribs. "Especially this light-footed lunk here."

"Least I wasn't cursed with such dainty little toes." Fye returned the jab by shoving his comrade's shoulder. "Every tree stump in the forest ends up as a splinter in those hairy nubs of yours." Fee rubbed the spot where he'd been hit, muttering, and the other giants laughed. Their good humor increased as Fee muscled his way up to the drawbridge and stuck a foot carefully out onto the human-made structure. Elmont and Jack simply sat on their horses and watched in a sort of fascinated dread, wondering if the stone would support his weight or break apart to drop him like a boulder into the moat. Jack was reminded of going to the circus with Dad once as a birthday outing and being mesmerized by an acrobat walking over a tightrope. Fee moved exactly the same way, with cautious little steps that prompted much jeering and mockery from the line of waiting giants behind him. A collective sigh of relief came from the two humans when he made it over, then was followed by Fye, Foe, and Fumm in quick succession. Fallon came last, grudgingly. No one dared taunt him except Fumm, who called out, "Don't fall in again, brother." The growl he received in answer would've rattled snowdrifts off the mountainsides. Jack grinned, hiding it in his sleeve.

When they were all across, the giants waited obediently for Jack and Elmont to join them. Elmont stopped his horse directly in front of them, speaking as he would to new recruits in the royal guard. "Well, you lot are all Guardians now. Let's assign you to your posts for remainder of the night."

"Fee. Fye. Your post will be the abbey."

"Right." Fee grinned, then wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Um, what's an abbey?"

"It's a big building with a belltower and a lot of little men in brown robes running about."

"Oh." Fee said with a quizzical tilt to his head. "Can we eat them?"

"No!" Elmont looked like he wanted to rub at his temples but was holding back. Barely. "Guard it. Protect the people there."

Fee shrugged, then lifted up his foot, and Jack had to fight against every screaming instinct he possessed yammering at him to run like hell as the two giants stepped over their human masters with feet big enough to squash houses. Then they were gone, and Jack needed a few extra moments to will himself out of frozen immobility. His horse remained still, its head drooping, apparently having resigned itself to an inevitable, messy death.

If Elmont were shaken at all, he did a spectacular job hiding it. His orders rang out clear and crisp. "Fumm, you stand watch at the palace. I assume you remember where it is?"

"Of course." Fumm nodded. Jack noted the black-haired giant seemed bored. Or distracted.

"Then off you go."

He went, and Elmont turned to face Fallon. Jack found himself holding his breath.

"Fallon, you and Foe stay here. Guard the main gate. Is that clear?"

The small head spat out a stream of incomprehensible noises that sounded vaguely like words, only hacked to pieces and put together again in the wrong order.

Elmont frowned. 'What did he say?"

A tooth poked through Fallon's lower lip as he grumbled. "He said you can kiss our giant, hairy a-"

_Uh-oh. Time to act kingly. _Jack was careful not to flinch, but maintained steady eye contact with the big monster as he shouted. "Enough! Fallon, do as your told!"

Fallon sniffed. "As long as that crown stays on your head, I will." He sniffed again, and Jack tried not to think about what the giant might be smelling. Fallon's eyes narrowed, pinning Jack with malevolent heat. His right hand dropped down to caress the wooden handle of his flail. The coiled links of the iron chain clinked together at his touch. "A giant's heart can't be tamed for long," he said, voice soft and deadly serious. Jack sensed Elmont as a still, tense presence beside him, but he didn't dare take his eyes off the giants. A few more seconds stretched by before Fallon's hand moved away from the flail. He grunted something unintelligible, and Foe snapped to attention. Elmont and Jack began urging their horses slowly away, backing up step by step until they were far enough that they felt it was safe to turn and put their backs to the main gate and its menacing sentries.

"Well," Elmont said, "I know a veiled threat when I hear one. Our two-headed friend is going to be trouble." He sounded exhausted.

Jack nodded. "I know, but we need them." _Believe me, I wish we didn't. _His whole body hurt from spending to long on horseback and his head felt ready to crack like an egg. Aside from that, he counted them all unbelievably lucky. "It went a lot better than I expected really. No one got hurt."

"Speak for yourself," Elmont grumbled, rubbing at his shoulder. "Feels like my neck broke from staring up for so long.

Jack let his mind wander, listening to his horse's hooves clicking on cobblestones as he and Elmont rode side by side to the palace. A stripe of pale pink light glowed on the horizon. Cloister would be waking up soon, which meant they needed to prepare for another day of potential mayhem. They'd spotted no dragons in the skies so far, but Jack had the sense that they were simply biding their time, resting in their hidden nests until hunger drove them out to hunt once more.

_And all I really want to do is find Isabelle, hold her and tell her how sorry I am that this happened. _Thinking of her reminded him of another girl, and he called over his shoulder to Elmont.

"You rode with Ana on the way back. Is she all right?"

The knight scowled. "I'm not sure about the rest of her, but her mouth works perfectly. Silly girl was asking questions about giants all the bloody way home. 'How can they live up in the sky? Why are they so big? How did that big mean one end up with two heads?' Would've driven me mad if I hadn't been halfway there already, worrying about whether those bastards were going to turn on us."

Jack laughed, then grew thoughtful. He remembered the landscape of Gantua, with its lush green forests and flowing streams. He remembered feeling like a grasshopper, jumping from one huge, unsteady wooden plank to another as he crossed the hanging bridge leading to the stronghold where Isabelle was being held prisoner. He remembered how wonderful and terrifying it all had been, and how the giants themselves, in spite of their horribleness, still felt like something out of the pages of a fairytale. "It wouldn't hurt to find out," he said, musing. "We don't know much about them, really."

Jack didn't turn to look, but the boy swore he could hear Elmont's eyes roll as the knight replied, "Something tells me that's exactly how it should be."

{O}

Jack squirmed, helpless in the giant's grasp. His little human ribs compressed as he was squeezed tighter and tighter, his pain-wracked body convulsing as it struggled to breathe. Fallon relaxed his grip just enough for the human to scream.

"No! No!" Jack's legs thrashed as he was lifted up. There was no magic bean to save him this time. All his friends were either dead or fleeing for their lives. Fallon grinned, hissing in the boy's ear, "Oh yessss," then opened his mouth wide.

His teeth bit through the first vertebrae of Jack's neck with a satisfying crunch. The rich taste of human blood spurted onto his tongue - a little too sour for his liking but made palatable by the sweetness of revenge. His jaws worked as he chewed the pulpy head slowly, drawing out the moment before he swallowed. Then he let the headless body drop to the floor of the palace. It fell like a broken doll, landed on the bare wood floor with a wet slap, blood exploding from the point of impact like juice from a popped grape.

Licking his red-smeared lips, he turned his attention to the golden princess in his other hand. Her tear-stained eyes met his, her soft, pretty face contorted with fear and grief.

"Now, Princess," he rumbled, "you're mine."

That was the fantasy that played out in glorious, vivid detail through Fallon's mind as the two-headed giant stood at his post before the main gates of Cloister. His fellow watchman, Foe, was asleep on his feet, bony knees locked tight while his head hung limply forward, chin touching chest. A thin thread of drool hung from his half-open mouth, fluttering whenever he snored. Were Fallon the one giving orders, he would've pounded the smaller giant's nose through the back of his head for sleeping on guard duty, but, under these circumstances, he let it go unpunished. In fact, falling asleep seemed rather tempting at the moment.

Jack and the Guard Captain had left them standing here all night. Now it was mid-afternoon, and here they still were, forced to stay in one place like bloody fools, while little humans with dirty faces and tattered clothes scurried through their cobbled-stone streets like rats in a warren. None of the peasants dared get too close to him, but he'd caught groups of them huddled together at a respectful distance, gawking and pointing fingers. Some of the young males even called out taunts and insults, and yet he was bound by Jack's will from eating any of the little upstarts! All he could do was stand there, snarl at everything, and contemplate the stupidity of existence.

At least it wasn't raining. He loved thunder, but he hated getting wet.

_Jack._ Just thinking of the boy made him want to kill something. But there was something about the farmboy that actually made him cautious for once. It wasn't just the fact that Jack had almost killed him; Fallon wanted more than anything to return the favor. It was that, through his entire adventure, Jack had been so damn _lucky_. Lucky to have not been taken prisoner, lucky to have found the princess, lucky to have escaped with her, and _insanely_ lucky to have still had a bean with him when he'd needed a weapon powerful enough to hurt a giant. The boy was favored by Fate...and one who was Favored could make a very dangerous enemy indeed.

_But Fate is fickle_, he reminded himself. _Good fortune doesn't last forever. And it takes a strong will to master the Crown._

Fallon inhaled, taking down a deep, shuddering lungfull of air that did nothing to ease the half-smothered feeling in his chest. He wondered how mankind could stand it in their world full of rank scents and unwholesome air when he could barely breathe.

Earth hadn't felt like this last time he was here. Of course, he'd been having good fun then with stomping and crushing human soldiers.

His small head began blowing bubbles as a way to entertain itself. Yet another avalanche-inducing snore issued from Foe. Fallon sighed, and his thoughts strayed, as they always did, to the Princess. She was in a class all her own; an irritating reminder of past failures and blood descendant of a hated king. Yet, when she'd been caged and at his mercy she'd shown more courage than any other human prisoner he'd interrogated. Her refusal to answer his questions was infuriating, but such bravery raised her slightly above the level of general contempt with which he regarded the rest of her kin. for such a weak little creature, she had a feisty spirit.

And worse, she smelled so damn _good. Just like the girl Thunderdel had loved. _

Every now and then the wind would change, bringing him good, homey scents from the mountains. Of moss-covered stones, clear running streams, and hard-packed snow. They were the same sort of smells he'd grown up with in the mountain caves of Gantua, and he ached to abandon this miserable human nest and go to them. It was maddening, being stuck to one spot, unable to leave.

Could he leave?

_Only one way to find out._

He took a hesitant step forward. Nothing stopped him. No invisible barrier sprang up to stop him. No thunderbolt from the sky. So he took another step. And another. He could've laughed at what should've been so obvious. Jack hadn't been the one to give them their orders. The Guard Captain had. And if Jack wasn't close enough for the Crown to restrain some slight disobedience, then perhaps he could bend the rules a bit. Just a bit.

Foe continued to snore like a choking bear at his post. Fallon let him. Humans were pointing and screaming at him now. It was a much more agreeable sound than their laughter. Maybe he could even eat a few of them, and damn the consequences.

Then the wind changed, carrying on its back a sharp tang of green apple juice mixed with...

...with a sugary scent so familiar to him he could track it in his sleep, or even half-dead. It was close, tantalizingly close. His mouth filled with saliva as he imagined its taste. Even his small head, dullard that it was, voiced its excitement in happy little gurgles, thick-lipped mouth stretched wide in a broad grin. _Yes,_ he thought as he stepped over groups of frightened peasants and carefully picked his way among fragile human buildings. _Good fortune comes to us all, sooner or later._

With both heads wearing almost identical expressions of delight, Fallon followed his nose to the princess.

{O}

"How is Daniel?" Ana asked before biting into a green apple.

They'd found a shaded spot on a wooden bench beneath some apple trees. Isabelle picked a few bits of crumbled leaves out of her hair as she settled against the rough backrest, trying to make herself as comfortable as it was possible to get while wearing plate armor. A sword lay across her knees; not her father's massive greatsword, -it had proved to cumbersome for her to wield properly and she'd forced herself to leave it on a dais within the palace treasury, resting on a green and silver altar cloth among candles and incense until the day it could be sealed along with her father in a stone sarcophagus. The sword she had now was bound in a golden scabbard, with a topaz sparkling on its pommel. A bit too showy for her taste but Elmont had chosen it for her, and the curved, shining steel gave her a small measure of comfort, which she sorely needed.

Flowerbeds artistically arranged to soothe the eyes and mind surrounded them, displaying bunches of orange, purple, and white blossoms. It being late September most of the prettiest flowers no longer bloomed, so it was really the herbs that held sway in the garden now. Carpets of mint, angelica, and belladonna exhaled their spicy-sweet breath among the apple trees. It was rumored that the groundskeeper used hedgemagic to make her herbs grow year-round. Isabelle wasn't sure she believed it, but the garden always seemed to be full of beautiful plants, even after winter's first snowfall.

"He's hungry. The boy eats anything the cook gives him." Isabelle fixed her eyes straight ahead, watching a pair of doves splash about in a water-filled basin mounted on a silver pedestal. An angel carved in white marble spread its feathery wings in the exact center of the basin, it's serene face upturned to heaven, the stone eyes full of childlike wonder.

_Mama used to love angels. _The thought felt like a cold sewing needle stinging her heart.

"It's really good of you and Jack to take care of him. He told me he's an orphan." Ana finished off the apple, tossed the core into a pile of newly fallen leaves. Sunlight slanted through the trees behind them, moving in time with the wind as it shook the branches. The wide, gold-embroidered sleeve of Ana's emerald gown fell down to expose her slim wrist as she adjusted her sheaf of ribbon-bound red hair, draping it over her left shoulder. Glancing at the girl, Isabelle felt a flash of envy that her lady-in-waiting felt safe enough to stroll about in pretty dresses and jewels whereas she felt naked without her gold plate armor and weapons. _Dealing with giants would make anyone a bit edgy after awhile, I suppose._

_"An orphan. There seems to be a lot of them these days," Isabelle said sadly. _She stroked the ornate scabbard of her sword, the tip of one nail tracing lazy spirals over its shining surface. "My Father gave his life to save that boy. It's the least we can do." _Except the poor child still wakes in the night crying from nightmares of what he saw on the abbey steps. Just like me. _A breeze feathered her cheek as she sighed.

_I'm so tired._

Ana nudged her shoulder, the contact making a muffled clang as her elbow bumped Isabelle's plate armor. "Look," she whispered, pointing. Isabelle followed the girl's finger and saw a fluffy gray squirrel on the ground where Ana had thrown her apple core. Its tail bobbed as it crouched on all fours, wet black nose sniffing delicately at the piece of fruit. Isabelle watched it take a quick bite of its prize, then looked away.

Ana smiled as she continued to watch the squirrel, but her happiness melted away when she noticed her friend's shadowed eyes still staring down at the blade laying across her knees. "My lady, should we go back to the palace? You seem anxious." Ana asked, studying Isabelle closely.

"I can't stay in the palace forever." Isabelle sighed. _I shouldn't even be out here,_ she thought. _Not with the giants roaming around. But there isn't anywhere to get a moment's peace in the castle these days._

"We're safe here, right?" Ana asked. "It feels safe."

"Safe enough." One had to look past the rows of carefully tended trees to see the garden wall; thick, gray, crenellated stone that was meant to offer visitors privacy as well as protection. She could just make out the chiseled top of it whenever the wind blew the tangle of branches aside. It might not stop a giant, but it would certainly make it harder for one to get to them. She hoped.

They lapsed into thoughtful silence. Shadows shifted as the sun sank lower in the sky, heading inexorably westward. The doves still flapped and cooed in the water-basin at the feet of the white angel. Their playfulness managed to catch Isabelle's attention. She watched them. while still resting her hands on the scabbarded sword. Unhappy thoughts were swirling through her mind. She'd seen too much these last few days. Too much death. And having the giants returned to Earth terrified her, even if they weren't at open war with humanity. And her people were suffering every day and...

"I don't know if I can do this."

The words were out before she was aware of saying them, and Isabelle sighed miserably when Ana glanced up so quickly the braid resting on her shoulder slid off.

"What?"Ana asked, then remembered propriety. "I mean, 'What, my lady?'"

"Don't call me that!" Isabelle wanted to meld her body to the wooden bench and disappear. Her voice was rough from holding back the tears that threatened to spill out. "I didn't want it to be like this, Ana. Father's gone and the kingdom's in ruins and the giants are back and I don't know what to do!" A breeze touched her damp cheeks, cooling the heated skin. She could almost feel the touch of Ana's hand on her shoulder through the layer of golden armor, and allowed herself to lean against her friend, sniffling and wiping at her nose. "I'm not ready to be Queen!"

Ana shifted slightly, then Isabelle felt the girl's fingers in her hair, stroking gently. "You'll do fine, Princess . None of this is your fault."

'Isn't it? Everything was normal before I got myself taken up to Gantua and captured by giants!"

"That wasn't your fault either." Ana's voice was soft and kind. _Like Mama's._ 'And who knows! Maybe the giants will save us!"

A tear left a trail of salt down Isabelle's cheek. She scrubbed it away. "Ana, the giants aren't..."

A bird shrieked. Isabelle's eyes snapped up to see the doves abandon the water-basin in panicked flight. Around them, squirrels were shooting up into their trees, not bothering to carry any snacks back with them as their tails disappeared into hidey-holes in the bark with frightened little chirps.

And then every hair on Isabelle's nape stood on end as she heard the thump of a giant's footstep.

The princess leapt to her feet, dragged a startled Ana off the bench with her by one hand while gripping her sword in the other. In a hot heartbeat, she'd released Ana's hand and drawn the sword from its scabbard. The cool, bright length of metal glinted in the waning light. Her narrowed eyes roved, scanning the horizon intently.

Beside her, Ana stood wide-eyed, confused. "Princess?"

_They shouldn't be here_. Her heart beat strong and fast in her ears. _They shouldn't be anywhere near the garden_. She held her sword up in the guard position. The blade would be absolutely useless against a giant, but having it made her feel a little less vulnerable.

"Ana," Isabelle's voice was tight from holding down the knot of screaming panic inside her. "Run!"

The trees blocking her view of the garden wall began to shake. She caught a quick flash of a pair of all-too-familiar bald heads, and felt as though her entire body had been dipped in chilled wax.

As if it posed no obstacle in the slightest, Fallon stepped _over_ the garden wall.

"Ana! RUN! NOW!" All thought of fighting dissipated like smoke in a strong wind as Isabelle roughly shoved the girl ahead of her. They both ran for the stone staircase that would take them out of the garden and back to the safety of the palace. There were awful sounds of things snapping and shattering behind them, and Isabelle risked a glance over her shoulder to see the white angel statue knocked off its base by a quick swipe of Fallon's claws. She could hear his footsteps bearing down on her, and had time enough to hope Ana would have the sense to keep running, get back to the palace, and find help.

And then clawed, crooked fingers wrapped around her waist. Air moved around her, crushing her shoulders down as she left the ground, her stomach rolling from dizziness mixed with the horrible feeling of being trapped in a nightmare. She was still lightheaded and gasping for breath when all movement stopped with her feet dangling over empty air and staring into the two faces of Fallon, and would've screamed if she hadn't been struggling to breathe.

"And what sweet fruit is this?" he growled. Isabelle saw that he was free of the patches of blackened skin he'd had the last time she'd seen him. That had been horrible enough at the time. But now his eyebrows were drawn close together, and the bladed edges of his cheekbones gave him a sinister look, Especially when he was leering at her the way he was now. The sort of look that told Isabelle she was in deep, deep trouble.

She wriggled in his grasp. His thumb was pressing indecently against her breasts while her left arm was trapped behind her back. Her sword hand was still free, though, and she frantically tried to hack at his fingers.

His response was a low, throaty chuckle. "None of that," he said, and his left hand darted up, thumb and forefinger wrenching the sword out of her hand as easily as picking a cherry. "I'm beginnin' to think you aren't as pleased to see me as I am to see you, Your Highness."

In spite of the terror filling her head, one small spark of defiance was just too stubborn to go out. "I wasn't expecting to meet a giant traipsing through the garden." She pushed at his fingers, squirmed against the rough calluses of his palm in an attempt to wrench her left arm free. "Put me down!"

"No," he said, and his small head squawked in assent. Breathing hard, Isabelle stopped struggling for a moment and simply looked at him. This close, she could see that his eyes weren't entirely black, as she'd thought, but storm-gray, and they were studying her face with an intensity that made her want to shrink away. "You will answer our questions."

_Dear God, not again. _Isabelle shuddered, and nearly dislocated her shoulder in another vain attempt to free her left arm. Her heart leapt when the tip of her index finger brushed against a hilt, and she remembered the small dagger she'd been carrying in a concealed sheath at her back. It might not do any good, but then again it might. If she could get it out...

Fallon's voice dropped to a low purr, becoming the smooth voice of an interrogator. "Where is the book?"

Isabelle squirmed, was able to get three more fingers around the hilt, but couldn't pull it out. Fallon's grip around her tightened, making her gasp."I won't tell you!" she shouted, her fear momentarily eclipsed by frustration.

"Fine, then." For once, the giant didn't sound angry. Just amused, as though that was the answer he'd been expecting and was ready for it. Isabelle felt a chill. "I suppose I'll have to persuade you, princess."

He lifted her to his mouth.

Her throat went bone-dry as her struggling, which had momentarily ceased, now renewed with a vengeance. She was so close to his face now that if she'd wanted to, she could've reached out and touched his lips. Leaning away only squeezed her trapped arm even harder, sending tingling jolts of cold numbness up her shoulder. She raised her right hand, palm out, in a futile attempt at warding off his stormy eyes and the row of white, even teeth she remembered all too clearly."You can't," she tried to twist in his grasp, but failed, "eat me!"

"Perhaps not," he hissed, bringing her even closer so that her face brushed his nose. "But I can think of more interestin' things to do with yeh than eat yeh, Your _Highness_." His accent was thickening, Isabelle guessed from excitement, at which possibility she finally gave in to instinct and froze, every part of her bracing for something nasty.

"What are you going to-"

The question died halfway as Fallon inhaled. hot air brushed her face, lifting up strands of her hair as the giant sniffed. He pulled on her scent, sucked it down greedily as his nose nuzzled against the curve of her throat. _It almost feels like a horse's muzzle, only bigger._ Oddly enough, the absurd thought comforted her, allowing her to slip into a kind of daze while staying completely still, fascinated yet fearful.

'Your scent is a rainbow of sweetness, king's daughter." His voice sounded like velvet dragged against her skin, and she ducked her head when she felt her cheeks growing warm. _What in all of Albion is he doing?_ Shivering, she made a half-hearted shove at his nose, the pudgy tip of which rested upon her shoulder, continuing to snuffle and sniff at her hair. "And your taste..."

Whatever trance she'd been lulled into broke when he shoved her against his lips. The idea that Fallon was_ kissing _her had barely taken shape in her numbed brain before the twin surfaces parted slightly and his tongue snaked out.

Alarm flared inside her when she realized what he was about to do. _No!_

It was the most disgusting indignity she'd ever had the misfortune to experience. His tongue was thick, dripping with frothy spit, and reeked of old blood and decaying meat. It slipped over her shoulder, trailed a damp line up the right side of her face, and for one mercifully brief moment covered her nose and mouth as it rested on her head. She held her breath, remained rigidly still until the pulsing warmth left her face to continue down her aching left shoulder in one languid, slimy slurp.

"...is even better." The tongue withdrew back into his mouth as he smacked his lips loudly.

"Aaaaggh!' Isabelle wiped at the trickles of yellowish spit sliding down her face. Her hair hung in sodden clumps, loose strands in front of her eyes dripped slime as though she'd been rained on. When she'd cleared the filth from her eyes, she saw the giant watching her, one corner of his mouth upturned and his eyes gleaming devilishly. _He enjoyed that! _

And something in her snapped.

Fear evaporated, was replaced by white-hot outrage, and despite every rational thought in Isabelle's mind screaming _this is a really bad idea! _she railed at Fallon with all the hell-hath-no-fury a righteously indignant princess can muster. "You...you...how dare you!" His toothy smile only got bigger. Without thinking, she balled up a fist. "You...BEAST!"

The fist flew, and made contact with the end of Fallon's hooked nose with a satisfying smack.

The giant grunted and brought a hand up to feel the bridge of his nose. Isabelle, having used the chance to vent her rage, now felt properly horrified. _Crawe was butchered for less than what I just did! _Fresh panic seized her,and with a titanic effort that sent ice-bolts of pain all the way up to her collarbone, wriggled her trapped left arm. The dagger was _so close_. She gritted her teeth, felt polished wood as her wrist touched the knifehilt, then felt her thumb and fingers close tightly around it...

She risked a furtive glance at Fallon beneath the dripping tendrils of her hair, and saw movement from his small head. The weird creature seemed to be holding back a laugh while it shot a sidelong glance at its master; a crafty, knowing smirk that reminded her for all the world of the way Wicke would look at Roderick after the countless times she'd admonished the counselor for making too free with her person.

She hated that look.

Fallon's eyes opened wide enough for all the whites to show. Mockery was heavy in the giant's voice when he spoke. "You really didn't expect that lovetap to hurt me, did you?" He brought her to his mouth again, licked his lips in anticipation of another "kiss."

With a falcon's cry of effort, Isabelle tore the knife free of its sheath and buried the blade deep as she could in the soft skin at the center of Fallon's palm.

What followed was a blur of confused impressions. Roaring, then a sense of cold air rushing in as the huge fingers released her. She fell, didn't even have time to worry about what would happen when she hit the ground before her back connected with something solid. The air rushed out of her in a huff, and she lay sprawled out, stunned and covered in flower petals. A multitude of candy-sweet scents rose around her as she tried to sit up, and some hazy part of her brain realized she'd landed in a flowerbed.

_Wonderful._

Then something large moved in front of her. Her vision came back into sharp focus, revealing brown, hairy toes, and Isabelle began a mad scramble backwards to get away from those enormous feet that were far too close for her liking. Her heart felt as though it would shake her chest to pieces. Sticks and broken pieces of masonry dug painfully into her sweating palms as she dragged herself away, until her back fetched up against the base of an old, gnarled tree.

Her sword was gone, she'd played the only card she had left, and, worst of all, one look at Fallon told her he truly _was_ angry this time.

She heard thumping footsteps, then a dark shadow fell over her. Isabelle closed her eyes as the snarling monster stooped to pick her up.

"Leave her alone!"

The voice was rough, accented, and distinctly not human. Trembling, she opened her eyes, and felt her battered mind nearly fly into pieces from the latest surprise in what was fast becoming a day of shocks. The hand that had been reaching out to snatch her was being held back by none other than Fumm. He stood beside his leader, gripping the other giant's meaty forearm so hard his knuckles appeared bruised. A low growl was coming from Fallon that sounded so angry Isabelle thought she'd never heard a sound that so perfectly matched the color of blood. _They're going to fight!_ _I have to get out of here!_She tried to will her body into movement, but each of her muscles felt as tight as bowstrings about to snap. Wide-eyed, she huddled against the tree, gaping in fascinated wonder as the two giants stared hard at each other, challenging each other through their fierce eyes. Then both of Fallon's heads simultaneously bared all their teeth, made rough, strangled sounds of fury, and tore their arm free. Fumm had just a bare second to take a step back before Fallon struck him, backhanding him across the face hard enough to whip his head to one side. Fumm stumbled back, and Isabelle screamed when he started to fall.

Two benches, a marble sculpture of a lion, and a wiry birch sapling were crushed under the giant when his heavy body hit the ground. Isabelle silently thanked God that the giant hadn't fallen forward. A cloud of powdery white dust hung in the air, and through it she could see Fallon's broad back as he stalked away. Marked him as he came to the garden wall, and, instead of stepping over, simply kicked a hole right through it. For a moment, Isabelle's ears roared with the rumble of stone being smashed, then the whole garden became blessedly still and silent.

Fallon was gone.

Isabelle was vaguely aware of her whole body shaking as she lay against the tree, panting in short, shallow gasps and clutching at her chest. Her skin, still damp with Fallon's spittle, bloomed with cold whenever the wind touched it. Years seemed to have passed since the two-headed nightmare had found her, though the sun had barely moved in the sky. Isabelle flinched when a rustle from the fallen giant reminded her she wasn't alone.

Fumm lay on one side, his face already swelling into a nasty purple bruise. He grunted as she sat up, and Isabelle saw multi-colored piles of rubble beneath him, and some dazed corner of her mind noted that the groundskeeper would be in an absolute frenzy. _Giants trampled the garden today._ The thought made her into a short, semi-hysteria cal giggle.

"Hmm, I almost thought he was truly going to kill me that time." Fumm's tone was mild. He reached up with one hand, brushed white dust out of his hair, which frosted the black mane like sugar. His attention turned to her. "Your Highness, are you well?"

"I'm f-fine." Her voice was a tremulous croak. She studied the fallen giant like a rabbit peering out of its hole to watch a circling hawk. The last time she'd seen the black-haired warrior, he'd been fighting with Fallon over which of them had the right to eat her. It was not an encouraging thought.

There was the sound of feet running over stone, and a high, clear voice. "Princess!"

Isabelle groaned. _Ana! No! Go back! it's not safe here! _But the girl arrived too soon for her to shout the warning. Her green dress was torn in several places, but aside from that Isabelle was relieved to see she was unhurt. Crying, the lady-in-waiting threw her arms around her princess's shoulders. "What...what happened, Princess? Are you all right? Is-"

Isabelle hissed a warning when Fumm stretched out his long, dirty fingers, reaching for them. Ana froze, and the two girl's huddled together like frightened children beneath the swaying tree branches. Fumm pulled his hand back, and glared at the two of them with baleful eyes.

"I thought," he rumbled, "that it was customary for humans to thank those who try to help them." Isabelle studied him carefully. His mouth was turned down at the corners, his eyes were narrowed into catlike slits. He was still dangerous as a thief in a merchant's house, but there was something about him that seemed forlorn, almost resentful. "I have only helped you twice so far. Or tried to."

Isabelle blinked, feeling uncertain and more than a little confused. "You...helped me?" She scrubbed at her spit-slimed face, nervousness demanding she do something with her hands. "I...I don't..."

She was grateful when Fumm finished for her. "You do not understand, do you?"

"I'm afraid not." From beyond the garden wall, Isabelle heard the shouts of angry soldiers, She fervently hoped that Jack would be able to put a stop to Fallon before he got up to any more mischief.

Fumm inched a little closer to them. "When you were before the Gathering," he said while holding out a hand, fingers curled, "I thought if I could claim the right to eat you, I could take you away and spare you further suffering. It was the only excuse that blood-crazed rabble would've accepted. I was trying to save you the only way I could, Princess." He sighed. "And paid well for it."

She nodded, remembered the meaty _thwack!_ when the business end of Fallon's flail connected with his face, and the snarling argument that followed. At the time, she'd been horrified by the brutality with which the giants treated even their own kind, and having spent so much effort running, hiding, or saving her kingdom from them it never occurred to her that they might know anything about kindness. "Why would you do that?"

He growled , a short, sharp noise of disapproval that was quickly cut off. "Not all of us are as stone-hearted as my elder brother, Princess," he said. There was the sound of more stone cracking as he shifted his weight slightly. "I hold no love for your kings, but neither do I care for the mistreatment of females, less so when they are helpless and unarmed."

"So, are you going to thank me?"

"Th-thank you." It sounded so inadequate that Isabelle ducked her head, unable to meet his glaring eyes. Then Ana untangled herself from around Isabelle, and, before the princess even realized what she was about to do, stood up and approached the giant. She held out a hand, and Fumm uncurled a finger to touch its very tip against her palm.

"Thank you for all you did for us."

Fumm's eyes widened. He looked as surprised as Isabelle felt.

"You're welcome."

(O)

**Author's Notes:** And I have FINALLY wrapped up another head-bangingly long chapter. I hope I didn't make too many mistakes. I'll confess I'm going on my own imagination for the layout of Cloister so if something seems a little off it's entirely my fault. And I found out while I was writing this that Fallon's eyes are mottled gray, not black, so gone are the days where I refer to his "glittering black eyes." And I always wondered why exactly my two favorite giants were fighting over Isabelle. Fumm struck me as, if not less vicious, then at least a little more reasonable than Fallon. So he seems to be the most likely one to have Standards that he tries, with mixed success, to uphold. if this sounds weird, it probably is. I'm just trying to give the big guys some character development.

To spice things up, I thought it would be interesting to add in some actual consequences for traveling up and down the beanstalk. There's a reason behind Fallon grumbling that he can't breathe. The larger an organism is, the more oxygen it requires. Someone Fallon's size would need an insane amount of oxygen to feel comfortable, doubly so because he has two heads. I'm assuming the oxygen level on Gantua is at least twice what it is on Earth. Actually, it should be frozen and nearly airless up there, but since this a fairytale universe we can throw logic in the dumpster and slam the lid on it. Yay!

And I've been planning for Fallon to give Isabelle a Jabba the Hutt style kiss ever since I started writing this monster. Poor girl.


End file.
